


Adrift

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016), Master and Commander - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Found Family, Gen, Jack is a naval captain, Master and Commander AU, Sailing AU, Whump, and Mac is a scientist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 22:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: “You’re being requested to take on a new member of your crew. A scientist from Edinburgh. He’s eager to explore the Galapagos islands for himself, and since you’ll be passing the area to find Murdoc…”Jack opens the letter. It’s an order signed by the Admiral requesting Jack to take on a civilian named Angus MacGyver, from the University of Edinburgh.“This isn’t going to be a voyage to be taking a civilian on, Matty.” Jack doesn’t know who this “Angus MacGyver” is, but he does know scientists. Nervous flighty creatures who never have good sea legs and can’t pull their own weight. He’s transported a few and he never wants to do it again.“He might surprise you.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea in my head and it just wouldn't leave me alone...hopefully you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> I took plenty of historical and factual liberties with this one. Also there's the occasional small spoiler for Season 3...

Jack Dalton feels distinctly out of place in Admiral Raines’s house. Everything is elegant and polished, brass and marble and mahogany everywhere. Jack’s far more at ease surrounded by iron anchor chain and tarred ropes and sand-scoured decks. 

It also might have something to do with the fact that every time he’s called here, it seems to be for the express purpose of scolding him for some misdemeanor. Jack should, by all rights, be more than a single ship’s captain, by now. He’s spent his whole life in the navy, most men with his military prowess have risen much faster. But Jack’s never been exactly a stickler for the rule book, and that’s kept him in the boats. Frankly, he doesn’t care to be anywhere else. There’s nothing like the sea, not to him.

He wonders which of his deviations from standard procedures is going to be dragged out and used to beat him over the head today. He doesn’t even think this time was a particularly problematic one. Not like the last time, when he let the pirate captain Patricia Thornton and the  _ Chrysalis  _ slip through his fingers. 

In his defence, the woman saved him from a French battleship that severely outmatched him; he was only returning the favor. She’s rarely a problem for the fleet itself, she prefers to attack merchant vessels, and she only ever takes cargo, never prisoners or ships.  _ As fair as a pirate can be. _ There was grey in her hair last time he saw her, it’s likely she’ll be retiring soon to live off her wealth on some uncharted island.

But Jack can think of at least a half dozen things that might have gotten him an audience with the admiral for this voyage.  _ Or at least on paper, with him.  _ Everyone knows the Admiral’s wife is the real military strategist. She’s also ten times more terrifying. So when Jack received the letter, he was more worried than he was when he first shipped out. 

When he knocks, Matilda asks him to come inside and shut the door. He’s already concerned, and this makes it worse. She’s alone, the Admiral isn’t even here to deflect her anger. If she brings up what happened on furlough in Cairo again, he’s going to tell her what he did in the letter. It was  _ not _ Jack’s fault. 

“ ‘Lucky Jack’ Dalton,” Matilda says. “It’s good to see you back on land.”  _ But as soon as my crew is ready, we’re going back out.  _

He can’t wait to get back to the  _ Phoenix _ . Now that Lady Sarah Adler is married, he’s got no reason to want to stay on shore. But he knows his crew is eager to get some time on land, and Bozer, the cook, has been complaining about low supplies since they crossed the Equator. 

Jack used to feel a little jealous of the men who had families they came home too. But the truth is, the  _ Phoenix _ crew is his family. Especially his navigator “Riley”. She joined the crew eight years ago as cabin boy, going by the name “John Riley” and rather unconvincingly disguised. Thankfully, Bozer was good at helping her keep her true identity a secret, at least until Jack was successfully able to plead her case to the Admiral and Matty. It didn’t hurt that she has a fantastic head for numbers and is possibly the best celestial navigator in the Royal Navy. 

Matty turns away from the window. “We have reliable information telling us that French pirate Denis Murdoc has captured one of our ships transporting valuable military documents, including the plans of several of our defensive outposts.” 

Jack feels like he’s been hit with a cannon blast. Denis Murdoc is notorious for his brutality and bloodthirstiness. He’s been a thorn in the side of the British Navy for years. But never more than an inconvenience at best, since he has trouble keeping a steady crew. Especially after the incident with that British traitor Fletcher. 

“You are the Admiral’s…and my…choice to go after him.” 

“I’m honored.” Jack’s actually surprised. It’s no secret he and Matty have a rough history. 

“That’s not all, Jack.” Matty hands him a letter. “You’re being requested to take on a new member of your crew. A scientist from Edinburgh. He’s eager to explore the Galapagos islands for himself, and since you’ll be passing the area to find Murdoc…”

Jack opens the letter. It’s an order signed by the Admiral requesting Jack to take on a civilian named Angus MacGyver, from the University of Edinburgh. 

“This isn’t going to be a voyage to be taking a civilian on, Matty.” Jack doesn’t know who this “Angus MacGyver” is, but he does know scientists. Nervous flighty creatures who never have good sea legs and can’t pull their own weight. He’s transported a few and he never wants to do it again.

“He might surprise you.” 

* * *

Jack supervises the loading with the relaxed air of a man who trusts his crew implicity. They’re tight-knit and he would trust them all with his life. Hayes, Hern and Thorpe are the oldest, grizzled veterans of the seas. Thorpe sports a peg leg courtesy of a battle with the Spanish near the Americas, but he’s still a crafty hand with the ropes and can repair anything on board. Jack’s crew hails from across the globe as well, Sheng, who joined on with the crew in the South Seas as a boy, is the head of their cannon crew, and Omar, who Jack rescued from a Morrish ship wrecked in a storm, knows more secrets about coaxing the speed out of a ship than Jack ever learned from his books. Lieutenant Robert Reese is likely on his last voyage with the  _ Phoenix, _ if all goes well he’ll be promoted and given command of his own vessel on their return. He’s had his eye on the  _ Lida, _ a new ship sporting an experimental hull design, since he saw her being built in docks, and Jack thinks he stands a good chance at captaining her.

The others are equally as dependable, and Jack feels more than a little bitter at Webber for deciding to add a newcomer. He doesn’t want to deal with a scientist on board. His men (and Riley) are the tightest crew in the Royal Navy. He’s seen firsthand how adding another member, especially a civilian, can drive wedges in the crew. Hopefully the man will keep to himself. 

He looks down at the papers in his hands, and then up at where there’s a sudden commotion on the docks. His crew doesn’t usually have a problem with loading, but it sounds like someone is colliding with other people.  _ We have a system, that shouldn’t happen... _ And then he sees someone who can only be their newest crew member, and has no energy to do anything but sigh. 

Jack was expecting a distinguished old fellow with spectacles, a cane, and an armload of books. Not a gangly puppy of a boy rushing around the docks, colliding with half the crew. He’s all arms and legs, and messy blond hair that’s falling further and further out of the short queue he’s tried unsuccessfully to tame it into. The stack of books is the only accurate part of Jack’s assessment, and the boy’s constantly dropping them, trying to pick them up, and losing more in the process.  _ When they said a scientist from the University of Edinburgh I thought they meant a professor. _ Apparently Matilda neglected to tell him Angus MacGyver was a  _ student _ .

“Oh, be careful with that!” He calls as Charlie Robinson hefts a heavy-looking crate over his shoulder to load it into the longboat. “If you jostle that too much, it might explode.” Charlie grins like it’s a grand joke until he sees the deadly serious look on Angus’s face.

_ Wonderful.  _ Jack’s pretty sure this boy is going to be singlehandedly responsible for sinking them two days out of port. 

Jack stalks up to him, letting his rolling sailor’s stride become even more pronounced. “Angus MacGyver?”

“Aye, but you can call me Mac,” he says, holding out a hand and apparently forgetting that was the only thing preventing his books from falling. They tumble in a cascade onto Jack’s toes. “I’m verra sorry,” he apologizes, face reddening and dropping to his knees to retrieve the books. His noticeable Scotch accent is only getting stronger the more flustered he gets. 

“I’m Captain Jack Dalton.” Jack picks up the last few books and sets them on top of the precarious stack in the boy’s arms. “I hear you’ll be traveling with us on the  _ Phoenix. _ We’ll be setting sail as soon as the tides turn, so I suggest you finish loading your equipment. And try not to drop it, or yourself, in the harbor.” 

Mac nods, and puts the last of his gear into the longboat before climbing in ungracefully.  _ If he tips it over, it’s no one’s fault but his own if his gear is ruined. _

But contrary to Jack’s expectations, both Angus MacGyver and his equipment make it into the  _ Phoenix _ without falling in the harbor, exploding, or catching fire. 

Jack tasks Bozer to help Mac settle in. Not only is the cook so benignly friendly he couldn’t make an enemy if he tried, but his berth is the closest to where Mac will be taking up residence in the surgeon’s quarters. Lanier, their actual surgeon, is also functioning as second mate now, and although the room still stores his tools, he’s no longer living there. The man insisted he couldn’t live with the smells of the chemicals in there, and Jack is inclined to agree. 

When the tides turn, they begin moving out of port. Jack stands near the bow with Riley and watches the water roll away from in front of them in a slightly foaming curl. He’ll never get tired of the open seas, of the wind at his back, of the roll of the ship under his feet. And from the smile on Riley’s face, she feels the same way. 

Jack notices that Angus chooses not to join them at supper. Either he’s too absorbed in his work already, or as Jack thinks far more likely, is too seasick to feel like eating. Bozer’s prepared a spectacular feast, food still fresh this close to port, and Jack digs in with a hearty appetite. Once they’ve been at sea a few weeks, there won’t be anything close to this good. Even though Bozer has a knack for making even hardtack and salt beef seem edible. 

He feels just concerned enough about their scientist to stop at his door. When he knocks, it takes a long time for Mac to answer, and when he does, he’s terribly pale. “I think...I’ll be needin’ to adjust the seasickness tonic,” he mumbles, before slamming the door hurriedly. Jack doesn’t think the smell in the room is entirely due to chemicals now, and he winces in sympathy. He may not like the boy much, but seasickness is never pleasant.

By the next morning, though, Angus is on deck, showing few signs of the previous night’s ordeal aside from slight paleness and occasionally shaky legs. “I was right, peppermint was what I was missing,” he says when Jack asks about whatever cure Mac seemed so fascinated by. 

The young man is a puzzle, that much is sure. He’s an incongruous mixture of curious and timid, clumsy and careful. He wants to learn everything about everything on the ship, but he watches from afar, clearly not comfortable asking the busy sailors to show him. He spends a good deal of his time in his cabin, for the first week, and sometimes when Jack walks past he catches a whiff of smells that would turn him sick in a moment.  _ No wonder he was so eager to create something that would settle his stomach.  _

He’s prone to appear when he’s least expected, like at Jack’s elbow while he’s taking a sextant reading or at the rail when they log speed. He carries a small blank book around with him almost constantly, and he uses Bozer’s cookfire to make charcoal sticks he uses to sketch everything from the exact positions of the rigging to the way Thorpe’s wooden leg is secured to his thigh, to the formations of clouds that rise over the water. Jack’s gotten fairly used to seeing him perched cross-legged on one of the capstans, chewing on the end of one of his stick pencils, with his hair falling into his eyes while he sketches the ship or works mathematical calculations. Sometimes he just sits there for hours practicing the knots he’s seen the sailors use; Jack’s started to find small pieces of tightly tied twine in random places. He thinks maybe it should be annoying. But more and more often, he finds himself picking up the pieces and slipping them into his pockets. 


	2. Chapter 2

They’re two weeks out when Jack, stepping down into the kitchen to see if there’s any chance of them having a fresh chicken for dinner, hears Mac passionately arguing with Bozer, over the rattle of pots and pans. 

“I promise, I’ll be returnin’ it tomorrow. I only need to…” 

“NO!” Bozer snatches back the pot. “I have put up with the unholy smells of those chemicals, I have put up with you sitting on a stool drawing the bones of the chickens when I butcher them. But you may not make anything that would possibly poison people in my cookware.” The two things in the world Bozer will actually fight people about are his cooking utensils and his food preparation. 

“I’ll have to agree with Bozer on this one,” Jack says. “The kitchen things belong in the kitchen, not being used for whatever alchemy you’re up to in that cabin.” Bozer gives the other man a vindicated grin before bustling off, holding his pot in both arms, to check something on the stove. 

There’s only one door out of the kitchen, so Mac is forced to walk past Jack to leave. He refuses to look up, staring down instead at his scuffed boots. Jack catches his arm as he passes. “Come with me. I want to talk to you.” 

MacGyver barely meets Jack’s eyes as the two of them walk toward the surgeon’s cabin. When Mac opens the door, Jack is pleasantly surprised to find that the smell isn’t immediately repulsive. There are rows of new jars and small pots ranged on the shelves, held in place with what look like hand-tied twine nets stretched across them. The boy’s worktable is an organized mess, reminding Jack of his own desk. 

Jack leans in the doorway, crossing his arms. 

“This is first and foremost a ship of war. We are not a scientific expedition. And as such, the welfare of my crew and my vessel is my top priority. Your work is allowed so long as it does not interfere with the functions of the ship.” 

“I’m sorry for causin’ trouble.” Mac looks guilty, head hanging. “I didnae mean…”

“I should have made things clear from the start, I’m as much to blame. I understand your curiosity, and your enthusiasm, but this is not your university. We are designed for battle, not science. In future, I suggest you refrain from asking to borrow things from the rest of the ship, unless you have already been given permission.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Jack can’t even scold the boy without feeling guilty;  _ why did he have to have eyes that look so much like a kicked dog? _ He gently claps Mac on the shoulder, starting to smile. “No harm done. Bozer’s just quick with his words. You’d have to be Captain Murdoc himself for the man to hate you.” 

Jack doesn’t miss the quick flinch that spreads across MacGyver’s shoulders at the mention of the pirate.  _ Is he worried what will happen when we catch that bastard? _ Jack knows they’ll be in for a hell of a fight, but Mac won’t be in on it. He’ll be belowdecks, working with their surgeon to tend wounds.  _ Maybe he’s not too keen on seeing the aftermath.  _ Jack’s never found that pleasant either. But they’ll see what mettle the boy’s made of when they see action. Until then, Jack’s found it best to make no assumptions. He’s seen men he assumed would laugh in the face of danger cower in corners, and he’s seen those he had half a mind to call coward to their face run blindly into a hail of cannon fire, first to board the opposing vessel.  _ There’s no telling what a man is like in battle until he’s in the thick of it.  _

“Bozer’ll be over it in the morning, I swear.”

He watches the boy crumple into the chair at his desk, looking defeated and tired for the first time Jack’s seen since the first night. He can’t stand to think that he’s responsible for making the normally infectiously cheerful young man so glum. 

“Have you ever known anyone who’s scientifically studied the mechanics of a ship?” Mac’s eyes light up again.

“Actually, the design of hull shape to reduce drag and increase efficiency-”

Jack tunes out the ramble of terms and names for a moment. “How would you like to be the one who creates a conclusive account of the best ways to keep a ship in fighting trim?” This way, Mac doesn’t interfere with their everyday activities, but he gets to learn, which seems to be what he loves most. “I’ve seen you watching everyone. You know, if you want to know what they do, you could ask them.”

“Don’t want to be a bother. They’re always busy.”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t like spinnin’ a good yarn for hours. They’ll tell you plenty they’ve learned about sailing, if you can put up with the exaggerated stories of battles and sea monsters.” Jack grins. He knows Hern would be more than willing to regale Mac with every story of his years in the Navy, glad to have a new listener who won’t start ignoring him halfway through a tale the way everyone who’s heard his stories a hundred times will. And Hayes might be an old devil, but Jack’s never met a man who could tie more knots.  _ Bet Mac would like learning that. _

Angus is back to his slightly scattered, enthusiastic self. “And I can talk to Bozer about the ways he chooses food to prevent scurvy, and who’s in charge of gunnery? I want to ask them about storing weapons and powder to prevent them from getting wet.” He’s scribbling madly in his notebook, and Jack smiles. 

* * *

His plan to keep their resident scientist busy isn’t without the occasional drawback. Most of the time, it’s perfectly safe to leave Angus in the capable hands of his men. Sometimes, however, the boy’s own curiosity, and the old hands’ forgetfulness that he’s not exactly one of their own, lead to trouble.

His first indication that he hasn’t solved all of their problems comes off the coast of Bermuda when he’s attempting to describe an altercation between Hayes and one of their newer crew members, an Australian fellow who at least claims his name is Samuel Cage. Cage keeps to himself much of the time, his father was a transported prisoner, so the man has few real friends onboard. But he does his work well, and Jack’s seen no reason to suspect him. However, he something he did when the two, and a few other crew members, took the longboat in for supplies managed to rile Hayes enough to nearly get Cage tossed overboard,  _ not that making Hayes angry is difficult. _ It seems tempers have cooled on both sides, and now Jack has to find a way to record the incident that won’t make his superiors decide one or both of the men should no longer be part of the  _ Phoenix  _ crew.  _ I tell you, it’s the damn Bermuda curse. Every time we get near that island, men go insane. _

Jack’s musing over the right words to describe the situation, to be truthful and yet evasive,  _ should I say ‘indicated he intended harm’ instead of ‘threatened and pushed against the gunwale’? Probably, _ when he hears a faint crash from the surgeon’s cabin and a voice that sounds vaguely like someone is cursing in Gaelic.  _ Probably Angus.  _

When Jack arrives at the door, he opens it to find Angus kneeling on the floor, clumsily attempting to pick up the pieces of a shattered bottle with thickly bandaged hands. He startles, glancing up at Jack through the long fringe of hair that’s perpetually escaping his queue and falling over his forehead. 

Jack shakes his head. “What were you attempting to do?” He pushes Mac to sit down in his chair, and begins to unwind the clumsy wrappings, hoping the boy hasn’t burned himself with his chemicals. 

“Log speeds. I didn’t realize the ropes were so rough. Or moved so fast.” Mac’s hands are shredded, covered in raw patches where the skin is gone. Jack winces. Most of the men here have hands that have been rubbed raw so many times they’re covered in thick calluses, and the fingers have difficulty moving. His own are stiff, and sore on cold days. 

“Let me wrap them.” Mac has tried to do it himself, but since both hands are torn up, his work is clumsy. Jack sets aside the cloth, noticing a pungent odor of something smeared on it. “What did you put on these?”

“Something I was working on back home. It helps heal wounds without scarring.” Jack figures Mac has plenty of reason to want to develop that for himself, if his actions on board are any indication of his usual nature, he’s probably carrying more than his share of scars. But there’s a pain in his eyes when he says it that Jack can’t quite fathom. 

“Rope burns will hurt like hellfire, but they’ll heal in a couple weeks, provided you’re careful and don’t go using your hands too much.” Jack would tell a deck sailor to ignore the pain and keep moving, that the scars would harden and eventually he wouldn’t feel a thing when working with the ropes, but Angus isn’t one of those men, and seeing the tears shimmering in his eyes from the pain while Jack tends to his hands doesn’t sit right with him. 

Jack finds substantially fewer knots of cord around the ship over the next few days, and MacGyver spends more time in his cabin. Jack hears several more of what he assumes are Gaelic curses when the boy’s hands prove too stiff to work on whatever small mechanical device he was creating, or when he drops a pencil. On the rare occasions Jack sees his handwriting, it’s even more illegible than normal. 

There’s plenty of good-natured teasing from the weathered sailors when Mac comes on deck, and increasingly bizarre stories of how men have lost fingers or whole hands doing that. Jack just shakes his head, and at first Mac seems put off by the jibes, but eventually he seems to realize it means the men are starting to accept him. They’re always a bit hard on newcomers, Jack remembers his own early days when it seemed like the height of amusement for the crew was the boy who got his foot tangled in the ratlines. 

Mac stays well away from the loglines for a while, but he has taken a vested interest in the daily sightings to find their location. Jack doesn’t really need to take readings, not when both Riley and Lt. Reese are doing them and checking each other’s work, but he still does, mostly for the feel of the sextant in his hand and the calming focus of catching a star on the horizon. 

He’s just putting his own away one evening when Mac shows up, a small box in his slightly less heavily wrapped hand. 

It’s clear he hasn’t seen Jack at the rail, he’s making a beeline for Riley, pulling something out of the box and showing it to her. He’s asking her something about her readings, and Riley smiles and pulls out her logbook, opening it and spreading it out on the rail to show Mac what she was working on. Jack leans on the rail and smiles, listening to Riley do what she does best, talking about the numbers and figures and stars that she loves so much. Jack’s a good hand with the basics of navigation, but the complicated formulas Riley’s fond of sometimes escape him. It looks like she’s found someone who can match her mind in Mac. 

As far as he can tell they’re discussing a new form of sextant. Mac’s showing Riley how to use one he made, and Jack wonders for a few minutes where he got the pieces for it before deciding it’s best not to ask too many questions. It’s unconventional, but from the look on Riley’s face when she hands it back, this is a breakthrough. 

It’s only when Riley goes belowdecks that Mac turns from staring out at the moon-silvered ocean and notices Jack. “How long have you been there?” he asks, sounding a good bit startled. 

“Long enough to hear a lot of things I don’t understand, and to see you’ve made a friend.” Riley is a guarded person. Jack never asks about her past, but he has the feeling there is something dark there. Whether Riley is an escaped former slave, or the child of a cruel man, he doesn’t know, but she has always been slow to trust and accept people. 

“She’s brilliant,” Mac says. 

“Believe me, I know.” Jack thinks of the young woman as a daughter, and he’s always proud when her talent is recognized. “And so are you.” Jack has no idea what tweaks Mac has made to the basic form of the sextant, but clearly they’re good, because Riley approved.

Mac glances up at him, and there’s almost a look of shock on his face.  _ Has no one ever told this boy he has an absolutely amazing talent for invention? _ Jack wonders what the standards for excellence are at Edinburgh.  _ But this kind of disbelief...that wasn’t taught when he went off to university.  _ That deep-seated belief that he’s not worthy of praise is as heavily ingrained in his  nature as is Riley’s distrust of strangers.  _ He learned as a child that nothing he ever did was good enough. _ And that thought leaves Jack silent, staring out over the water beside Mac as the moon rises higher. 


	3. Chapter 3

They come into port in Brazil, and it certainly feels like they’re in another world entirely. Mac’s never been further from his home than London, before this voyage. The heat and light and people in brilliantly colored clothing and the chatter of dozens of languages is overwhelming. They hadn’t made land at Bermuda, only sent the longboat for needed supplies, but now they’re actually docking. 

It feels strange to be on land after weeks at sea. Mac’s legs struggle to adjust to ground that doesn’t pitch and roll under him, and he stumbles several times. It doesn’t help that he’s been likely to trip over his own legs even when he’s used to solid ground. 

He’s at the edge of the dockyard, debating if it’s safe to go into the town when he can barely walk, and certainly wouldn’t be able to run if he got into trouble.  _ Not that I plan to, really, but trouble seems to follow me whether I want it to or not.  _

The others all seem eager to hurry off to find a woman or a tavern. Bozer and Riley have gone off together to haggle for supplies at market, and Mac had debated going to see what food choices the cook made before realizing it was fairly clear that this was the only time alone the two were going to have, and that they seemed very eager to spend time together.  _ I can imagine it’s difficult to be in love on a small, cramped ship. _ He’s not sure exactly what the nature of their relationship is, but he won’t question it. They’re likely keeping it secret for a reason. 

He’s pacing the dock when he notices a small bird perched on one of the crates. He pulls out his sketchbook; he’s going to draw this and as soon as he gets back on the  _ Phoenix  _ he’ll see if he can identify it. 

He’s sitting on a coil of rope, trying to get the crest of feathers on the bird’s head right, when he sees movement behind the crate. Someone is walking up a path toward the docks. Mac blinks, staring into the shadows under the trees. Whoever this is is limping slightly, and when the person gets closer, Mac can see that it’s a man with greying red hair and a grubby sailor’s shirt, well worn. 

He’s not at all sure what this man is doing here alone. They’re not to be taking on passengers here, and the man isn’t delivering something.  _ It’s possible he’s here to steal something.  _ Mac knows, from spending plenty of his childhood in a port town, that some people hang around the docks waiting for cargo to be unloaded or supplies brought out. 

But the man doesn’t stop to scrounge around the crates and boxes on the docks. He’s looking straight at Mac, walking directly toward him. Mac is suddenly very aware that he’s alone here, that the rest of the crew is in town or working on the ship.  _ This could go very badly.  _

“You come in on the Phoenix?” The man asks, shifting from one leg to the other like he’s afraid to be seen here and wants to leave.

“Aye.”

“Know anyone on it by the name Angus MacGyver?”

For a minute, Mac’s not sure how to respond.  _ Who here would want to talk to me? _ “What’s your business with him?”

“I have a letter.” The man pulls a grimy, folded sheet of paper from his jacket. “Left for him by-” He doesn’t need to say more. Mac recognizes that scrawling hand. 

“I’m Angus MacGyver. I’ll take the letter.” Mac reaches for it.

“I was told you’d be good for the payment. A few pounds is a fortune to a man like myself.” Mac sighs but digs into his pocket.  _ Of course he’d make me pay for the letter he’s left for me. _ When the man runs off, and the paper is safe in Mac’s hands, he carefully breaks the familiar seal, scanning the even more familiar handwriting with a sigh. 

**_Ou plan is unchanged. Remain with the_ ** **_Phoenix_ ** **_crew until the objective is reached. The documents must be retrieved before an exchange is made. Word of a French frigate in nearby waters has reached us, possibly a rendezvous with Murdoc has been planned. I expect your ship to make contact first, as she is the faster. Godspeed. JM._ **

Mac folds the letter and tucks it into his own jacket. Suddenly, the town seems like a good idea. He needs some time before he can go back to the  _ Phoenix _ and pretend he’s not lying to their faces. About who he is, about why he’s here. And about their entire mission. 

* * *

They enter the doldrums, as expected, as they continue south. This has always been Jack’s least favorite portion of the voyage. Not only is it mind-numbingly boring, it’s dangerous. The heat makes dehydration a genuine concern, but water must be carefully rationed to avoid running out before they have the ability to get more.

Storms are dangerous, but there are ways to deal with them. Taking in sail, running under lee, a canny sailor can often outwit them. There is nothing to do with the doldrums but endure. 

The longboat is lowered and attached with ropes to the front of the  _ Phoenix,  _ and Jack breaks the men into shifts to row, to try and move them forward out of the calm weather. The sails are all lowered to catch any hint of a breeze, but nothing so much as stirs. Even the water is still, aside from the ripples from the boat and the fish occasionally leaping. 

The work is grueling, and seems almost useless. There is no way of knowing how far they have traveled each day until they take readings, and even those give a depressingly dim view. Hours of rowing move them barely at all, and it feels like an exercise in futility, especially for those who are new to these journeys. Most of Jack’s crew is seasoned and knows what the doldrums mean, but some still complain. Jack’s learned that there are some people in life who will take any excuse to cause problems. 

The heat seems to be driving them all mad. Tempers are short, and more than one fight broke out in the beginning, but with the men rowing night and day now, everyone is too exhausted to argue.

Everyone’s taking their turn in the boats, even Mac. He wraps his hands before he begins rowing, but even so, Jack can see that the skin is rubbing raw and blisters are forming. He doesn’t complain, but whenever Jack takes a turn at the same time, he can see the boy flinch when he tugs back on the oars. Mac eventually learns that trying to row hard is a waste of time, and eventually learns to fall into the steady rhythm of the other rowers. But every day that rhythm gets a little slower. 

Jack can tell the boy is exhausted when he stumbles back onto the ship as the rowing shifts change. But when he goes to his cabin, Jack watches him light the lamp and sit down at his desk with sheets of paper spread out in front of him. 

“What are you working on?” Jack asks. 

Mac looks up, the excitement in his face warring with utter weariness. “Designs for a ship that moves under her own power. The steam engine could in theory be used to power a small turbine that would use angled blades to put pressure on the water, thus propelling the ship forward.”

Jack leans on the desk to take a closer look. “But wouldn’t that require the entire cargo to be fuel for this engine?”

“What I’m imagining is something to be used only in cases of emergency, like sending out the longboat to pull us. A ship with a shattered mast or that’s becalmed could lower the ‘propeller’ from the stern with tackle, if it were properly attached with a jointed shaft to the engine. They could plan to carry only enough fuel to power the engine for a week or two at most. It would impact storage space, but it would likely be worth the added weight to avoid running the risk of water shortages.” 

Jack turns to the cratelike object he nearly tripped over. “And what’s this?” 

“A system to desalinate seawater.” Mac holds up the boxy object. “It’s powered by heat. I plan to place it over a barrel of seawater, and during the day, heat will cause the water to steam and rise to the top. At night, when it cools, the water will run down the metal cone to a collecting jar hung below it.” 

“Is that one of Bozer’s funnels?”

“He said I could use it. Since all I was plannin’ to be doing with it was purifying water. He said it was close enough to cooking.” He smiles. “It’s fairly crude, but I’m hoping in time to create something that will allow sailors, no matter the length of the voyage, to avoid worry about ever running out of drinkable water.” 

Jack shakes his head and goes off to catch up on his sleep. 

When Jack opens the door to wake Mac for his turn in the longboat, the boy has fallen asleep with his head on his desk, sprawled out amongst his papers. Jack smiles and walks away; he’ll take Mac’s shift this time. He’s earned it.

The first day’s test of Mac’s invention yields a disappointingly small amount of fresh water, but it is fresh. And Jack’s fairly certain half the crew now regards Mac as having some sort of magic.  _ Creating fresh water from seawater is an old hands’ tale. And now they’re watching it happen. _ Jack has to admit he finds it impressive that Mac managed to do this at all.  _ I’m never sure where the line is between science and magic. If one exists at all.  _

There’s no chance for Mac to test improvements to his device, however. In the night, a massive storm creeps across the water, and by morning, the decks are awash with fresh rainwater, and there’s a cool, wet wind in the sails. 

Jack stands on deck with the others, letting the rain soak the sweat out of his stiff hair and clothes. Riley is laughing, shaking her head to let the water fly off her curls. And Mac is staring up at the clouds with a smile, his long hair plastered to his face in dripping strings. 

It turns out Mac’s made one last improvement that Jack was unaware of, a way of funneling the water down to the barrels in the hold. And when the skies finally clear, there’s a brisk wind in the sails and they’re running south again, into the jaws of cold rather than heat. 

* * *

They’re approaching Cape Horn when they sight another ship. It’s far off, but there appears to be damage to her foremast and she’s moving slowly. Jack wonders if a storm caught her; they’re known for being particularly vicious here.

And then the wind catches out her flag, and Jack sees it clearly just as someone in the rigging raises the hail. 

“French frigate off the port bow!”

Admiral Raines’s intelligence suggested that a French ship was planning to rendezvous with Murdoc somewhere near the Galapagos. Jack wonders if this is her. If they can intercept her, they might stand a chance of reaching Murdoc before he’s able to hand off the plans of the forts and their defenses. 

“It appears she plans to engage sir!”

“As do I,” Jack replies. “All hands to battle stations, Mr. Reese.” The lieutenant nods and sets off, readying the  _ Phoenix  _ for what she was made to do. 

As Jack made abundantly clear to Mac weeks ago, the  _ Phoenix _ is a warship. She was built not to simply sail back and forth across the ocean like a merchant or an explorer. She was designed to take a beating and give as good as she gets. 

The sea has always been in Jack’s blood, but he thinks the war fought on it is where he has always belonged. Jack feels a certain kinship with his vessel and the men who sail her. They are ready at any moment to engage in a fight, to do whatever is necessary to protect the lives of those who wish to conduct their business on the sea in peace. Like the  _ Phoenix _ , Jack would be unsuited for anything else. 

He notices Mac, standing uncertainly still in the rushing tide of frantic preparation. “Go below. Help Lanier.” Mac nods.  _ He’s one of the few people on this ship who were not made for war.  _ Only Mac and Bozer seem immune from becoming caught up in the battles. They were not made to fight. But something in Jack has always found men like them just as admirable as his fellow naval men.  _ There is a time for war, and a time for peace, and we need men of peacetime. _

Jack’s always found the most difficult part of a naval engagement to be waiting. Once a ship has been sighted, and once it is clear that she means to go to battle rather than hoist sail and flee, there is a prolonged period where they are yet too far away to fire on each other. They can only watch the enemy come closer, and attempt to guess when she will fire, so they can make the first volley, but make it count as well. 

In this case, the  _ Chevalier, _ as Reese has been able to determine their opponent is called, fires first. She’s too distant to make much of an impact, but the first shot of a battle is certainly a boost for her crew’s morale and a slap in the face to Jack’s. 

Jack ducks as cannon fire rakes the deck and the side of the Phoenix. If they take damage below the waterline, she’s done for. He hears their own cannons answer with a volley that knocks splinters from the  _ Chevalier _ ’s mast.  

Another volley is exchanged as the ships drift closer together, and Jack calls for the grappling hooks during the  _ Chevalier _ ’s reload. He plans on boarding. The men rally to action, flinging the hooked ropes and pulling the two vessels together. Some of the crew are already swinging onto the enemy’s deck from the rigging, Jack recognizes old Hayes in that party of boarders. There are few of them, but their attack from above gave them an element of surprise. 

When Reese first joined the  _ Phoenix’ _ s crew, he repeatedly seemed shocked that Jack rarely actually issues orders in battle. It’s not that Jack is not a tactically minded captain, it’s simply that he’s known his crew for so long that he trusts them to follow the battle plans without reminder, and to adjust their attack if the situation calls for it. Jack’s never been a fan of heavy-handed captaining, and he hopes he’s instilled the same value in Reese. 

He and his own boarding party sweep into action, pinning the French sailors between themselves and Hayes’s men. Jack can see Hayes in the center of the fight, the mad bloodlust in his eyes as he swings his cutlass. The man’s never been one for naval discipline, but he is a fearsome warrior. Jack’s always grateful he’s on their side. 

There’s a swish of rope as one of the French sailors misses his swing and instead hacks off a line leading up into the rigging. A pulley, no longer anchored, begins to fall, arching down toward the chaos on deck. 

Jack watches as the loose tackle swings down at the end of the rope, knocking Hayes backward. The man sprawls on the deck, still, blood trickling from a large gash in his head. Jack cringes at the sightless eyes staring up.  _ We’ll mourn the dead later.  _ For now, there is only the battle. 

* * *

It’s not much later that the defeated captain is handing over his sword to Jack in his cabin, and being marched below with the rest of the survivors. Jack orders Lt. Reese to take the  _ Chevalier  _ into the closest port, along with a skeleton crew. He’s earned the chance to prove himself in command of a vessel. Jack’s found nothing to doubt about the young man’s mettle.  _ He’ll make a fine captain. _

Unfortunately, Jack is now forced to turn his attention from the living to the dead. He returns to the _ Phoenix _ and walks the row of the lost laid out in their hammocks.  _ Nicholas Carpenter,  Francis Mallory, John Lawson, Lewis Martin. _ Lawson has a wife and daughter, Mallory has a sister. Jack hates writing those letters. 

He goes belowdecks to see to the wounded. Cage is sporting a shallow but bleeding gash across the stomach, several of the others have arm and shoulder wounds. Mac is stitching up a graze on Riley’s arm, while Lanier examines Hayes, who is stretched out on the table. When Jack walks up to him, the surgeon shakes his head. He folds the canvas around Hayes’s body and begins to stitch it closed.

“No, stop!” Mac pushes himself between Lanier and the hammock. “Hayes isnae dead yet.” 

Lanier pauses, eyes wounded. “I’ve seen plenty men like him. He will be by morning.” 

“If you do nothing, he’ll die. But there is a way to save him. I heard about it at a lecture in Edinburgh.” Mac looks from Lanier to Jack, pleadingly. “Please, let me try and save him.” Jack nods.  _ It’s not as if he can possibly make it worse.  _ Lanier is right, if Hayes isn’t dead now he will be soon. Jack’s seen the boy practically work miracles already.  _ Let’s see if he’s as good with the human body as he is with mechanical things.  _

Mac lifts bloodied hands. “I need to clean up before I start working on him. The brain is delicate, I can’t have anything dirty touching it.” 

“You’re going to open his brain?” Jack asks.

“That’s where the problem is. When the brain is injured, sometimes a man looks dead when he’s only trapped in a sort of sleep.”  _ That’s not terrifying at all. _ Jack suddenly wonders how many times he’s buried a man with that sort of wound. 

Mac cleans his hands with some of their precious fresh water and begins examining the bloody mess of Hayes’s head. 

“The bone has been shoved inward, it’s pressing on his brain. I need to remove it and release the pressure or he will die.” 

Mac’s hands are rock steady, despite the remaining tension from the battle and the rocking of the ship. Jack has seen many a strange thing, in his years at sea, but watching Mac slice open a man’s head to save his life must by all accounts be the most unusual. 

When Mac removes a flap of skin to reveal shattered bone and what Jack guesses must be mostly intact brain, Jack feels sick. He looks away while Mac probes around in the wound and carefully pulls out each fragment of bone.  _ Good God, how can anyone be that calm?  _ Jack wonders if the boy’s dissected cadavers at university. It’s always made Jack feel a little strange, to think that some bodies instead of being buried are taken to places to be cut open and studied.  _ I suppose it’s to help people learn how to heal, but it seems so unnatural. _

“There’s one more thing I’ll need. I need you to keep this open.” Mac wipes his hands on a rag and rushes off, and Jack and Lanier are left gripping the flayed-open skin with forceps and trying not to look at what’s beneath it. Even the surgeon seems a bit put off. 

When Mac returns, Jack stares at the assortment of things in his hand. It looks like he’s planning carpentry, or to repair something metal. He holds up a small piece of metal plate about the size of his palm to the open space in the skull, and nods. “This should do.” 

“You’re going to put a piece of metal in his head?”

“The skull fragments are too damaged to be left there. But I cannae leave a gap, if he’s hit there again it would kill him.” Jack cringes, listening to the scrape of metal as Mac secures the plate. He can’t bear to look. The rasp of the drill against bone makes him shudder; he doesn’t really want to know what Mac is actually doing to make the plate stay in place. 

He’s heard of men opening the skull to heal, but Lanier always shied away from the process, calling it a superstitious idea and saying it did more harm than good. But Mac doesn’t strike Jack as the superstitious type, thinking there’s something evil to be let out. Everything he’s said has sounded scientific and carefully thought out. 

Jack can’t bring himself to leave Hayes’s side that night, more out of curiosity than anything else. Mac is refusing to leave as well, and Jack can tell the boy is nervous.  _ He doesn’t want to fail. If Hayes dies, I’m sure he’ll feel responsible.  _

In the middle of the night watch, there’s a whispered moan from the bunk. Jack jumps to his feet, as do Mac and Lanier. Hayes is awake, eyes open. 

“Damn. Is it all over?” He shakes his head slowly. “Never even got to run one of the bastards through.”

Jack closes his eyes with a sigh of relief. Hayes is alive, fairly well, and as ready for a fight as ever. He shakes Mac’s bloodstained hand, and Jack can see the tears of relief in his eyes.  _ Thanks to him, we’re burying one less man. _


	4. Chapter 4

Jack knows the storm is coming before the glass tells him. There’s something in the air, a heavy, still foreboding presence that seems almost personal. Jack watches the clouds gather and knows trouble is coming. Hayes emerges from below, still a bit unsteady on his feet, but loudly proclaiming that their new scientist has turned his head into a weatherglass and that he can feel the coming storm. “It feels like the hand of God himself,” Hayes whispers ominously before retreating below deck again. 

Doubling Cape Horn is always dangerous. The weather is vicious, cold storms sweeping up from the south and attacking with a violence that can literally tear a ship apart. Jack orders the crew to prepare as best they can. Anything that could be washed away is stowed belowdecks or tied down, Bozer prepares food ahead of time to avoid being burned by spilling pots. Mac double-checks his supplies and chemicals to be sure nothing poisonous will spill, and that nothing will be jostled and explode. That particular concern definitely gives Jack pause. 

When the storm does strike, it’s every bit as bad as Jack could feel. The wind is violent, lashing waves that tower to the masts. Sheets of rain so solid it feels like the ocean itself has swallowed them whole pelt the deck. Jack’s gained a healthy respect for the power of the sea since he’s lived his life on it. It’s too vast to be understood or controlled, only treated with respect and a good amount of fear.  _ One storm, one squall, one crash could wipe everyone on the ship from existence.  _ Jack thinks sailors understand mortality in a way few landsmen ever can. 

Ropes snap and flap in the wind, and sails whip wildly. “We need everyone who can securing that rigging!” Riley yells. She’s basically taken Reese’s place as first mate, and no one questions it. She’s wiping her sodden hair out of her face and scanning the deck. 

Jack stays at the helm, steering as best he can by dead reckoning. They were coming up on a rock-strewn area just before the weather hit. He was once part of a fleet that made this same passage, and he watched two vessels shatter on those very rocks in a storm like this. Almost all hands were lost.

He’s forced to tie himself to the wheel to avoid being swept overboard by the waves. They’re driving on at a terrifying speed, he only hopes they’ve passed the rocks by now. The sails are coming in slowly, managing the wet, wind-driven canvas is difficult. 

And then Jack hears a horrifying rending creak. His blood runs icy, colder than the rain dripping down his face and neck.  _ Have we taken damage? _ If they’ve been holed, it’s over. The pumps are already struggling to keep up with the rain and seawater coming in from the deck. A hole would be catastrophic.

“The main mast is breaking!” Riley yells. 

Jack glances up at the mast to see almost everyone coming down. Almost everyone except a terrifyingly familiar slender figure in a white shirt.  _ What the hell is Mac doing up in the rigging? He’s not a sailor, he doesn’t belong there! _ Jack’s already running toward the ropes, even as he hears Charlie yelling from above him. 

“Mac! It’s too late! The mast’s going to give, you have to come down!” The sail on Mac’s side is still partially loose, it looks like the section he was trying to secure has gotten away from him. Not surprising, landlubbers shouldn’t be anywhere near sails in a storm. Those sheets of canvas have a mind of their own.

Jack scrambles up the rigging, his hands going numb from the wet, icy ropes. The ship is pitching and rolling more than ever, but Jack barely notices. He passes the men coming down, who give him odd glances. It’s unheard of for a captain to do this. 

He reaches the crossbeam and starts along it to where Charlie is trying to reach Mac. The rain is lashing in their faces now, and the movement of the ship means it’s all they can do to stay put. 

“Mac!” The by looks  _ frozen. _ He’s not moving, blue fingers clutching the canvas in a death grip. “Charlie! Get out of here! It’s too late to salvage this! I’m going to get him down.” Jack makes his way across the ropes. It’s been a long time since he’s been up the masts in a storm, but it’s a familiar rhythm, rolling with the rocking of the ship. He tries to ignore the creaks of splintering wood. If the mast gives out before he gets Mac down...

When he reaches Mac, he puts a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder and cringes at just how terribly  _ cold _ he is. Mac is shuddering, body stiff. Jack’s not entirely sure if all it is is the cold, or if something else is wrong. And then Mac turns his head, ever so slightly, and Jack sees the eyes wide with panic.  _ He’s afraid. Of how far up he is, of the storm, something.  _ It doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that Mac is going to die if he doesn’t find a way to deal with that fear and get down. 

“Listen to me, Mac. The whole mast is going to snap. And if we fall into the sea they can’t get us back. The mast will drag us down with it.” Mac nods, almost unnoticeable in between shivers. “I’m not going to let you fall. But you have to let go and climb down with me, okay?”

“N-nae. I c-cannae move. If I l-let go I’ll f-fall.” Mac is staring at the water below them, breaths short and shaky. 

“No, I’m not going to let you.” Jack twists his fingers into Mac’s belt. “Listen. I’m holding onto the mast, and I’m holding onto you. So let go of the sail and come toward me, slowly.”

Mac finally, slowly, removes his stiff fingers from the sail and begins creeping toward Jack. Jack edges along, working their way toward the mast and the ratlines. If he can get Mac to the point where he can get his feet on the rope netting, maybe Mac will feel comfortable enough to come down. 

The mast groans ominously. They’re still halfway up. Jack forces his feet and fingers to move faster. “Mac, we have to get down. Now.” 

The next wave rolls them dangerously far to the side. Jack hears the deep, rending pop of the heartwood cracking. The mast is going over any second. They’re still fairly high above the deck, but Jack has a plan. He grabs one of the ropes dangling free and lets go of the netting he’s been scrambling down. “Mac! Hold onto me!” The boy looks absolutely petrified, but to his credit, he does, letting go of the rope and clutching Jack’s sodden coat in a death grip.

The ship pitches, the mast snaps and begins to fall, and Jack swings them both out of the way of the descending beams, rolling them onto the deck as it rises up to meet them with the waves. 

Jack pulls Mac out of the way of the falling timbers, both of them sliding across the deck, crashing into the walls of the stern cabin as the mast, like a massive tree, topples sideways, falling with its canvas and ropes into the raging surf. 

The men grab hatchets and start chopping off the ropes still holding the mast to the ship. If they don’t cut it loose it will drag them all down. 

Jack shudders. If he hadn’t noticed that Mac was in trouble...Mac would still have been up there when the mast fell, possibly Charlie as well. And they still would have needed to cut the mast away. Jack can’t bear to think of how horrible it would be to have left either or both of those men to drown in the storm.

Beside him, Mac is shaking violently. Jack thinks it’s from the icy rain, but then he hears a soft, strangled sob. Mac is crying, tears running down his face with the rain. Jack puts his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you inside and dry.” 

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Mac gasps, fingers wrapping around the tin mug of tea Bozer hands him when they get him sitting down next to the stove. “I’m afraid of heights.”

“What did you go up there for?” Jack asks. 

“You said you needed everyone who could help securin’ the sails.” He shivers, and Jack can’t tell if it’s because he’s soaked to the bone, or because he’s still terrified. “I’d read about it…”

“And you thought because you’d memorized the correct procedure while sitting safely in your chair, you were qualified to go into the rigging in a storm and attempt it?” Jack shakes his head. “Mac, I know how much you love learning everything from every book you can get your hands on, but at sea, nothing is the way it looks in those diagrams. Wet canvas being dragged every which way by the wind isn’t anything like a couple of pages of paper and ink. There’s never a perfect way to do anything we do out here. That’s something that people who spend their lives at sea learn slowly. You start to feel it in your bones, it’s not up in your head.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No one’s hurt, or dead. But the next time, leave the handling of the ship to the people who know her.” Mac flinches, and his eyes go glassy with tears again. Jack sighs. Curse his blunt sailor’s personality. “Mac, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be harsh. But...you have to understand, the sea is a harsh place. It requires respect. To treat it as if you can understand it is to ask for disaster.” Jack puts his hands on Mac’s shoulders gently. “You saw them cut the mast away when it fell?” Mac nods. “If you had been unable to climb down, that mast would have fallen with you still on it. And to save the ship, we would have had to cut it free, just the same.” Now Jack is the one blinking back tears. Mac swallows and looks up at him.

“And if it had fallen with you and me there, they would have had to do the same,” he says quietly. “Why didn’t you just let me fall?” 

* * *

Jack wakes out of a nightmare of the mast falling before his eyes, Mac still clinging to the sail. Of watching his men hack away the ropes, of taking a hatchet and joining them. Watching Mac’s desperation turn to resignation, until a wave sweeps him and the mast out of sight forever.

_ Would I have risked the ship to save him? _ It scares Jack that he honestly can’t answer that question. A good captain is always supposed to make the choice that protects the greatest number of lives. If, to try to save one person, he let the mast drag them and capsize the entire ship, it would be one of the most utterly stupid choices in British Naval history. And yet he can’t tell himself he would have cut Mac adrift to die in the storm.  _ What makes a scrawny little scientist so important to me? _

He has to remind himself that Mac is still here, that he’s not out there in the still-raging storm, not left to die in those cold, pitiless waves. Jack stumbles through the ship to Mac’s cabin, and when he knocks, Mac’s shuddery voice tells him he can come in. 

Mac still looks shaken. He hasn’t come out of his cabin yet, and Jack thinks he might be ill, judging by the fact that he’s wrapped himself in a blanket and is sitting at his desk but doing absolutely nothing.  _ Not surprising. He went up there in a storm without even a proper jacket; he must have been half-frozen.  _

“Mac, you alright?” He knows Mac isn’t, and also that the boy will probably lie to him about it. But asking is polite.

“I’m fine.” He turns away from the door, a full-body shiver running through him. 

“You haven’t taken apart any of the instruments or tackle yet, and it’s well past eight bells.” Jack shakes his head. “Something’s wrong.” 

Mac sighs, he doesn’t look like he’s gotten much sleep. “I keep thinkin’...about what it would be like. To die out there, alone.” He shivers again. “It was so cold, Jack. I  _ know _ I would have drowned, but all I can think of is freezing.”

Jack leans down beside him. He’s never thought Mac to be the kind of person to seek out physical reassurance, but Jack’s pulled more than one child out of a river or lake (many times he’s the only one in a crowd who’s confident in his swimming ability; unlike some of the older sailors, Jack prefers to be able to at least attempt to save himself) and Mac reminds him of nothing so much as those shivering children who want nothing more than to be wrapped up in a coat and held tight in a parent’s arms.

Mac doesn’t flinch when Jack puts his arms around him. He still feels cold, even though he’s spent the whole night safely below deck, and a good portion of it next to Bozer’s stove. Mac stiffens slightly but then immediately seems to melt into Jack’s grasp, curling up against him. Jack pulls the blanket around them both, and gently runs his hands up and down Mac’s back and arms.

Mac’s breathing evens out, and he begins to breathe more deeply and softly. He’s fallen asleep. Jack knows he should lay Mac down in the bunk and go on about his duties, but right now it feels like everything on the ship is a secondary duty to making sure Mac is warm and safe and able to rest free of nightmares. 

Jack looks up as a sudden warmth strikes him. Sunlight is beginning to gleam through the portholes. The end of the storm is in sight. 

* * *

The  _ Phoenix _ limps along without her main mast until she reaches a port on the west coast of South America. Mac can’t help but flinch every time he sees the shattered stub in the middle of the deck. He has recurring nightmares that wake him shivering, thinking he’s been abandoned to die in the open sea.

Jack insists they’ll be able to get good timber to step a new mast in this port, and Mac’s not inclined to disagree. From what he can see of the wood supplies, they should be able to find a strong, dependable new mast. 

He follows Charlie to one of the largest suppliers’ offices, soaking up as much knowledge as he can about what makes for a good mast, and how they’re going to avoid getting cheated. He’s also discussing some ideas for a new kind of pulley that Charlie, highly familiar with the rigging, will be able to help him refine. 

Once Charlie’s done haggling for their new mast, he insists they stop at one of the supply stores. It’s a well-known spot for the men to pick up letters, and it seems Charlie has an Irish sweetheart, Eileen, back home. He’s waiting impatiently for any letter she might send him. Mac’s rather surprised to hear that an Irish woman would take an interest in someone in the British navy, but apparently both she and Charlie are willing to set aside old rivalries. 

Charlie isn’t the only one with a letter from home. There’s one for Mac as well, with that concerningly familiar handwriting. 

Mac tucks the letter into his jacket before Charlie can see much of it. “Some sweetheart of your own?” the man asks as he picks up a coil of new rope to carry it to the cart.

“Aye.” It’s easier than explaining the truth. Than telling Charlie about his father. Because then he would tell him everything, and he can’t. If this plan is to work, the crew must believe everything he’s leading them to think about him. The truth can never be told, not until everything is over.

* * *

Mac waits until he’s safely in his cabin to open the letter. He’s glad he did, this isn’t simply another update. It’s worse, it’s an order.

**_Acheron_ ** **_is in harbor a day’s sail north. She flies an American flag to avoid seizure. If this letter reaches you before the 21st, she will likely still be in harbor. Board her as planned, and retrieve the schematics. JM._ **

Mac was hoping Jack and his crew would find the  _ Acheron _ first. Catching her in a fair fight would give him a chance to get back the papers when they seized the ship. He wishes he could tell them how to find the  _ Acheron _ now. But if he tells them, it means revealing everything. There’s too much at stake. 

He grabs his satchel from under his bunk, filling it with only what he needs to pass himself off as a sailor looking for a berth. It’s almost physically painful to leave behind his unfinished inventions, and the experiments in progress around his cabin. He salvages and stores what he can, disposing of the rest. At the very least, he can save Jack having to wonder if the smelly thing he wants to throw away will poison him if he touches it…

Jack. Mac’s been avoiding thinking about that part of leaving. He won’t be able to bear thinking about the worry in Jack’s eyes, the disappointment when he learns what he’ll need to believe, for everyone’s safety, is the truth. Even if Mac succeeds at his mission, he’ll lose the  _ Phoenix _ crew forever. They’ll never trust him again, not after this. As soon as he leaves, he’s as good as dead to them.

The thought makes him freeze as he shoves his journal into his satchel. He wants to pull everything out again, to pretend he never got James’s letter, to tell someone, to tell  _ Jack _ the truth. But if he does, and if Murdoc gets away again, thousands of lives could be lost. Mac has to get those plans back without anyone realizing what Murdoc got his hands on.  _ It’s too much of a risk.  _

But he can’t imagine what it would be like to cross paths again with Jack someday and see pure hatred and loathing in that man’s eyes. Mac knows he would never get the chance to explain a betrayal like this. 

He tears a sheet out of his journal, sits down at his desk, and scrawls out the best explanation he can. About James, about the cannon designs, about what he needs to do.  _ This is borderline treason, revealing this to someone without the rank or clearance to know the truth.  _ It’s selfish, leaving Jack a letter like this. It could jeopardize everything. If Jack finds it too soon and comes after him...but Mac can’t stop himself. He seals the letter with a smear of wax from the guttering candle and slips it into the pages of the thickest mathematics book on the shelf. Jack will be in no hurry to look there, he’s sure.  

He takes one of the smaller loading boats back to shore, there’s enough confusion and chaos that no one will wonder about one boat going back to land before it was meant to. Someone will take care of it, he’s not doing any permanent harm.

He rows away, watching the lights of the  _ Phoenix  _ fade into the night.  _ Please forgive me. It’s the only way. _

* * *

When Jack wakes up, it’s to a dim foreboding that something has gone horribly wrong. Then he realizes that’s because someone is knocking on his door. It’s Riley, and she looks worried, her normally carefully restrained hair falling into her eyes, her voice unsteady with the edge of fear.

“Mac is gone. His cabin is empty, he must have stayed in the town overnight.”

Jack sighs. The boy didn’t strike him as the sort to either drink himself into a stupor or become entangled with one of the town women; although those are the two most common reasons sailors go missing in port. He doesn’t want to think about Mac getting accidentally mixed up in some brawl, wounded and left for dead in some alley or tavern. And he can’t afford to ignore the fact that a slaver or kidnapper might have seen an easy payday in a handsome young man who’d clearly come from a moneyed family. 

He quickly works out the best plan for hopefully finding Mac before things get worse.  _ Please, don’t already be dead. _ Murders are sadly common in port towns, sometimes over nothing more than a few coins. Or if Mac fought back against someone trying to kidnap him...

“Sheng, Thorpe, search the taverns and the streets. Find out who saw him last night. Hayes, come with me. We’ll search the hospitals and the jail.” Jack cringes at the thought of the boy being blamed for some crime and locked up. There are just too many ways for things to go wrong in port towns.  _ I should have been looking after him more closely. I should never have let him go in there. _ But how was he to know this would happen?

He’s about to step into one of the longboats when Charlie hurries up, his own face drawn with worry. 

“Charlie?”

The man twists his hands in his shirt. “I saw Mac yesterday. He came with me to pick up some new tackle, and he wanted to talk about a better type of pulley. But the shopkeeper had a letter for him, and as soon as he got it, he seemed...different. He’d been talking my ear off about mechanical advantage and whatnot, but after that letter I could barely drag a word out of him with an anchor winch.” 

“And he didn’t come back to the ship with you?”

“He did. He went belowdecks, I suppose to his cabin. That’s the last I saw of him.” Charlie shakes his head. I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.” 

“It’s a place to start, at least.” And it means Mac is at least a little less likely to be dead.  _ A family emergency of some kind? But as far as I know he has no family near here. Did he decide to find passage home on another ship, so we wouldn’t feel any pressure to turn back?  _ That sounds very much like Mac. But a cursory questioning of the other ships’ crews reveals that none of them have taken on anyone with Mac’s description, and that no ships have left harbor since the past evening. 

Jack, on a whim, decides to ask at a livery stable in town, and when he describes Mac to the owner, the man nods. 

“I saw him. He rented a horse from here last night. In quite a hurry. And he paid me for the horse itself; said he’d not be able to bring it back.”

_ What the hell is happening? _

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Asked directions to the next harbor.”

“I’ll be needing another of your horses. The fastest you have.” Jack rides off a few minutes later on a slim chestnut mare, pushing her as hard as he dares along the dusty road that crosses the peninsula between their harbor and a smaller, less ideal port a few miles to the north. 

He desperately canvasses the docks, asking everywhere about someone who fits Mac’s description. When a young deckhand loading barrels says he saw someone matching that description the night before, Jack feels the first stirrings of relief.  _ He’s still alive, or he was then. But why would he come here? _

“He boarded a ship flying an American flag. But she was carrying a French crew.” Jack feels a sinking in his stomach like the feeling before a storm breaks. “She sailed at first tide this morning.” 

“What was her name?”

“ _ Acheron. _ ”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for threat of non-con in this chapter

Mac’s watched the _Phoenix_ ’s crew work long enough to know his way around a ship. He’s grateful for all the time he spent studying rigging and procedures, and his hands are still scarred and calloused enough from the rowing and the accident with the logline to make it seem possible that he’s been working on the decks. He should be able to pass himself off as a sailor, albeit a new one, long enough to get the documents.

He tries to make himself as close to invisible as he can. He does his work but only talks to the other members of the crew when it seems necessary. He tries not to be either too quiet or too talkative, and despite the fact that he’s already found five things he could repair, he resists the urge to fix any of them.

He still finds pieces of twine to tie into knots, but he no longer leaves them lying around. He tucks them into his pockets and only allows himself to work on them when he’s certain he’s alone. _The fewer ways I make myself stand out, the easier it will be to simply vanish with the papers when we make the next port._ Since the _Phoenix_ stopped the ship that was likely meant to intercept the documents, Murdoc will need to change his plans. Which will hopefully mean they arrive in a port with the pirate captain none the wiser about the theft of said papers.

As much as he wants to believe an easy and unquestioned disappearance is the only good reason to remain invisible, he knows there is a very real danger from several members of Murdoc’s crew. He’s noticed the stares, and heard the comments. He knows enough French to know what these men think of him. So far, they’ve done nothing, but he knows the danger is very real. The sooner he completes this mission the better.

It takes days before there’s an opportunity to get into Murdoc’s cabin unnoticed. The captain is a bit of a recluse, preferring to spend most of his time in his cabin. It’s so different from Jack, who was almost always on deck, who clearly enjoyed the sun and the salt wind and the sight of the waves and the horizon.

But there are other matters that do require his attention, such as eating, and although he takes most meals in his cabin, he does occasionally eat with his highest ranking crew members. Those in his favor seem to change on a daily whim. Mac finally manages to not be on watch while Murdoc is at one of these meals, and he slips into the cabin, glancing around furtively to be sure he’s not noticed. _All I need to do is find those plans and a place to hide them._

The cabin is nothing less than what Mac would have expected from the pirate. Murdoc’s walls are covered with gruesome weaponry. Serrated knives and swords, ugly coiled whips, streaked with bloodstains, and various other implements of torture that make Mac shiver. There’s an actual skull, of some kind of small mammal, being used as a desk paperweight. _Of course there is._ This man is a villain ripped from the pages of a Shakespeare play.

There’s a large black trunk in a corner, but it’s unlatched, and as far as Mac can see holds nothing more than clothing. But under the desk a small lacquered cabinet has been shoved, it appears to be covered in Chinese calligraphy. When Mac tugs on the front of it, there’s no give.

The papers are likely inside that locked cabinet. Mac glances around the cabin for a key, or for something he can use to pick the lock. As he carefully sifts through the contents of the desk, he hears a soft creak. He already knows what it is before he looks up.

Murdoc’s smile is eerily pleased. “Well, well, Angus, what a surprise, to find you in my cabin. Uninvited.” Mac shivers. _This is going to be painful._

* * *

Mac’s heard the stories of the gruesome punishments pirates mete out. Jack’s crew, especially Hayes, seem to have a morbid fascination with discussing the particulars. Mac wonders if it makes it seem less like something that could possibly happen to them if they were captured by an enemy.

Being marooned wouldn’t be so bad. Mac’s got a knack for using whatever he can find around him and he’s pretty sure he could survive on an island for quite a while. But he doubts Murdoc would take the risk of leaving him somewhere he could be found.

When the men who dragged him out of Murdoc’s cabin tear off his shirt and tie his wrists to the mast, it’s almost a relief. At least now he knows what the punishment will be. A flogging isn’t nearly as deadly as being keelhauled or tossed overboard and dragged behind the ship. But it will be painful.

He flinches slightly at the creak of boots behind him on the deck. He knows Murdoc will take a vicious pleasure in this, he’s already witnessed the man flogging a few members of his own crew for slight offenses. Something like this...he knows it will be brutal.

“I trusted you, Angus, when I agreed to take you on. And when you broke my trust, you wounded me, _mon ami_.” Murdoc’s smile is eerie. “Would you not agree that that deserves retaliation?”

Mac says nothing. The ropes holding his hands to the mast are tight; there’s no way he’s going to be able to slip free. And even if he did, where would he go? He’s on a ship full of enemies and there’s nothing but open ocean all around them.

“You are an intelligent man. What do you know about the cat o’ nine tails?” The pirate captain smirks, and shakes out the short, braided whip in his hand, smiling at it in a fond way that turns Mac’s stomach. The ends of the leather are caked in dried blood. He swallows hard. But he can’t stop himself from answering the way Jack would have.

“That it’s an antiquated and barbaric form of punishment, and it ought to be outlawed.”

“Well, fortunately _pour moi_ , I already _am_ an outlaw.” Murdoc smiles even wider. “And clearly your information on the subject is a bit...lacking. I have heard you are quite the scientist. And if I am not mistaken, the goal of a scientist is to observe and report firsthand. So think of this as furthering your education.”

That’s all the warning Mac gets before the leather comes down across his back.

He’s been hit before. Fist, cane, belt, all of them hurt in their own ways. But this is infinitely more painful. Every time the whip comes down there are not one but nine lines of agony. Mac shudders, fighting not to scream. He won’t let this monster break him, he can’t…but nothing in his entire life has hurt as much as this.

And it feels unending. Father would keep his punishments brief, five hits with the cane or belt, never more. Only enough to remind him of what he’d done wrong, why he deserved it. And Jack had said most naval captains would limit the amount of lashes allowed, especially with something as brutal as the ‘cat’. Jack had heard of captains who refused to administer more than ten lashes, others who would never go above fifteen. Murdoc clearly has no such scruples.

The seventeenth is the first that makes him scream.

Mac loses count of the lashes at twenty-three. He’s not even sure how much longer it is before he’s cut down from the mast and dragged belowdecks. All he knows is that it feels like the pain is never going to stop.

* * *

Jack’s been carefully avoiding looking at Mac’s cabin whenever he walks past it. So when he hears a soft thud and movement inside, just after they set sail again, he’s shocked. _There’s no way he’s come back. That would be impossible._ Jack smashes down the ridiculous little swell of hope in his chest and goes to see if it’s Lanier looking for something medicinal. He wasn’t aware of an injury or illness on the crew, but it’s possible for things to happen in moments, out here.

It isn’t Lanier he finds inside the cabin. It’s Riley. She’s fumbling through the bookshelf with a frown of concentration, and when he opens the door she jumps, staring at him wide-eyed. For a moment all he can see is the look in her eyes when he first discovered “John Riley” was in fact a girl.

Riley looks deeply guilty, pushing the books back onto the shelf and staring down at her hands. “He left most of his books. I was looking for the mathematics one he’d loaned me a few weeks ago. I wanted to see if I could do a little better on the equations for predicting longitude.”

Jack nods. He just hasn’t been able to stomach coming back into this room since Mac left. _Since he abandoned us, turned traitor and ran off with the enemy._ Jack still can’t reconcile that with the boy who set Cecil’s broken fingers and brought Hayes practically back from the dead and got altogether far too excited about every bug and bird they saw. _He didn’t seem like the kind to want to work with a bloodthirsty pirate._ Mac’s too kind for that.

“The ship isn’t off limits to you. You’re allowed to come in here and take whatever you want. He left it, I’m sure he doesn’t care.” _He left_ us _._ _Didn’t he care at all?_ “This isn’t Mac’s cabin anymore, it’s just the surgeon’s quarters. Everything in here is for anyone’s use.” Although Jack is in no hurry to touch the chemical jars.

Riley goes back to scanning the shelf, and then pulls down the thickest book there, a red, leather-bound volume with rumpled pages. She sets it down on the desk and opens it, and the pages fall to a spot near the center of the book as a folded paper flutters to the floor. Riley picks it up gingerly. The paper isn’t sealed, but it’s been folded like a letter.

“Jack, it...your name’s on it.” Riley holds out the letter, and Jack instantly recognizes Mac’s messy, hurried script.

**_Jack,_ **

**_I’m so terribly sorry to have to do this to you and your crew. I know it will seem that I have committed an unforgivable betrayal, and I have no right to ask you to believe otherwise. But I swear to you, on all I hold dear, that everything I have done is to protect you, your crew, and thousands of others._ **

**_What Murdoc stole from that transport ship was far more valuable that you have been told, and before I left Edinburgh, I was tasked with retrieving the documents. The details of this I am not at liberty to reveal, as I was charged with keeping the entire mission secret until its completion._ **

**_By the time you read this, I hope that I will have succeeded in reclaiming the documents. If I fail, and you hear nothing more from me, please send word to the man whose address is noted on the letters hidden here in my cabin, under the loose board near the desk. It is of the utmost importance that he knows of the success or failure of my mission._ **

**_I am truly sorry for what I have been forced to do. Please, if you can forgive me, I hope that you will._ **

  _ **A.**_ ** _ ** _MacGyver._**_**

 

Jack feels like crying. _My God, all this time he was trying to keep something like this a secret._ His heart aches for Mac, tasked with a dangerous, possibly deadly, mission, unable to confide in anyone.

“Riley, pull up that floorboard.” She does, and Jack flinches when he sees the papers tucked below it. He pulls one out, and begins to skim it, feeling slightly guilty for reading something that says what it does about Mac. He wasn’t lying. He was being blackmailed, in some way or another, into joining this crew, and now into acting as a spy for the British, on Murdoc’s own ship.

The letters are all signed merely, _JM._ Jack has no idea who it is, but if he finds the bastard, he’s going to strangle him. _Nothing is worth sending a boy like Mac into a den of wolves._ Jack knows Mac is a terrible liar, he can’t hide anything for long, and the truth is always in his eyes. _If Murdoc finds out the truth, Mac’s life will be worth only the money he can get for selling him in the next port._

“We’re going to get him back.” Jack flings the letters down. “We are going to find the _Acheron_ , and we are bringing Mac home.”

* * *

When Mac wakes up, it’s dark, and he’s all alone. He shifts slightly, then realizes there’s a rattling sound and a heaviness to his hands he can’t account for. When he looks down, eyes adjusting to the dim light, he sees that his wrists are shackled and chained to the wall. He moves his feet just enough to ascertain that they too are chained. He’s trapped somewhere in the depth of the ship.

Mac shudders. The slimy water lapping around his legs smells horrible, and he can hear the rats squeaking in the dark corners. His back burns and aches, and he can’t get comfortable. He can’t lie down in the filthy water, and he can’t lean against the wall, but curling forward strains the lashes and causes even more pain.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, miserable and aching, before he hears a door open and boots sloshing through the murky water toward him. He glances up through his sweaty hair, that’s come loose and fallen into his face, to see Murdoc bending over him.

The pirate looks Mac over the way Mac would have examined a particularly fascinating insect specimen. He shakes his head at the sight of Mac’s back; Mac can only imagine how awful the welts and gashes must look.

“Well, this looks...unpleasant.” Murdoc’s lips twist in an expression of disgust.

“If seeing your handiwork disgusts you, maybe you should have thought about that first.” Mac snaps.

Murdoc runs a hand down Mac’s side, brushing away some of the flaking, dried blood, and probing at the edges of the wounds. Mac shudders at the feeling of the man’s hands on his skin. He’s not entirely sure why, but something tells him he has good reason to be afraid of what Murdoc might have planned for him.

The man clicks his tongue in a slightly scolding way. “I’ve flogged men before. If your wounds are left untreated, it will be quite a painful experience. Of course, it will not be so much less painful to clean them, but you will heal faster.”

The thought of this monster being the one to tend his wounds makes Mac feel sick, sicker than the tossing of a ship ever did.

“Nae. You cannae pretend you care what happens to me, not when you’ve already flogged me.”

“I could be persuaded to make your situation far more comfortable...in exchange for...certain services, _mon cherie_.” Murdoc crouches down, staring into Mac’s eyes with that empty, gruesome smile. Mac shivers. There’s a reason ports have so many brothels, they’re catering to a rather desperate population. He hopes Murdoc doesn’t decide to hand him over to those men who were watching him earlier. Unless the man wants him for himself. He’s not sure what sickens him more.

“Of course, if you prove to be a problem, there are plenty of people who would be pleased to take you off my hands.” Murdoc smiles. “I think I would make a fine profit off of someone so...fetching.”

Mac wishes he could blame the shivering on the chill in the hold. But he can’t. Mac detests everything about the slave trade. Treating human beings like property, bought and sold at the whim of anyone powerful enough to control them sickens him. To _be_ one of those people...is almost unthinkable. And he has no illusions what his place would be. He’s not the sort someone would buy for manual labor, he may be strong but he doesn’t appear to be.

“Of course, that would be a last resort. I would far prefer to keep you to myself. I’m rather in need of a cabin boy at the moment, and you’d do quite nicely. If you understand me.” He reaches down to tilt Mac’s head toward him with a finger. Mac spits in his face.

Murdoc rocks backward, wiping away the blood and spittle. “Ooh I like you, MacGyver. Such spirit. Such defiance. It will be a pleasure to bleed them out of you drop by drop.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jack hates that they were delayed in port so long getting their mast repaired. The  _ Acheron _ has a frighteningly long head start, and she could be anywhere on the open sea. Jack’s only hope lies in the fact that the French ship they captured weeks ago was probably intended to intercept the  _ Acheron,  _ and so she’s expecting a rendezvous. Somewhere. It might make Murdoc more likely to stay near some predetermined place. He just wishes he knew where that was. 

When they see a ship in the distance, it seems too good to be true. And it is. It’s a British vessel, and Jack recognizes it as the  _ Chimera, _ one of the naval ships dedicated to protecting some of the Pacific outposts. 

“We’re being hailed.” Riley says. Sure enough, the  _ Chimera _ is requesting to make a passenger transfer. Jack’s not sure what this means.  _ Why would they ask us to take on a civilian? _ But it’s quite possible they’re not aware of his current mission. He’ll make it clear when he sees the captain that his ship is sailing for one purpose, to capture Murdoc. That battle will be no place for any civilian. Because Jack will not be leaving unless he has Mac back, or the Phoenix is at the bottom of the ocean. 

When the  _ Chimera’ _ s longboat shoves off, Jack can see one person sitting in the middle. There’s something about the man that seems familiar, but Jack has no way of knowing if it’s the greying blond curls, the posture, or something else. 

But when the man steps over the rail, accompanied by the  _ Chimera _ ’s captain, Jack gets his first good look at his face and steps back a pace in shock. It’s not an exact resemblance, but there’s enough in this man’s face that’s all too familiar. 

“Captain Dalton, this is James MacGyver, a very prestigious member of the Royal Society.” Captain Walsh steps forward, and James follows him.  _ James MacGyver. JM. That’s who sent those letters to Mac. That’s who forced him to leave _ .  

“I’m here to see about my son.”

Jack takes an instant dislike to the man. He’s met his share of cruel, callous commanders in his day, and while James MacGyver may not be a strictly military man, he is the sort who takes no care for anyone under his authority. 

“Mac is no longer on board my ship.” Jack keeps his words clipped.  _ If anyone finds out he told me the truth about his mission, he might never get to come home.  _ Mac could be the one who takes the fall for all of this, and be accused of actually turning traitor. 

“Then where is  _ Angus _ now?” James places an undue emphasis on Mac’s name, and Jack wants to knock him over the rail. 

“He left my ship in port over two weeks ago. And the last information I received was that he had taken a berth on the French pirate vessel the  _ Acheron. _ ” Jack tries to make his false anger at the betrayal believable.  _ Just think of how angry you are with James for making him do this.  _

“Of which you, I believe, are in pursuit.” James says, glancing around the  _ Phoenix _ with a condescending air, as if he’s of the opinion the ship now belongs to him. 

“As soon as the  _ Acheron  _ is taken, your son will be brought back to England to stand trial for treason.” Jack knows it’s harsh, but he wants to see what this man is going to do. “There is nothing you can do for him now.”  _ Mac may not be allowed to tell me what he was doing. But maybe I can pressure James into doing it. _

“Angus is on that ship at the request of the British government,” James snaps. “There will be no trial.”

“Then why was I not informed of this?”

“Because orders came from the highest echelons of the government,  and this mission is to sensitive to be divulged to a…”

“To a common sea captain. I understand perfectly.” Jack says sharply. “Unfortunately, I cannot simply take your word for it.” 

“I have signed orders from the admiral himself. He selected your ship for this mission and placed Angus on it.”  _ That’s why Matty was so insistent. This whole time, I believed the mission was to capture the  _ Acheron _ ourselves. But it seems that the real one was getting Mac on board. _

“What is so important that you would risk the life of your own son rather than wait for us to capture Murdoc ourselves?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss that.” James’s voice is cold.

“Then I’m afraid I cannot take you onto my ship.”

“For what reason?”

“Another member of your family has already deserted my crew for unknown reasons.” Jack isn’t going to back down until he gets what he wants. He can see how nervous Walsh looks.  _ This goes against all naval discipline. Questioning orders from the Admiral himself. _ But Jack has had it with the secrecy and lies. He wants to know why in the hell Mac is currently on the same ship as a brutal pirate. “Unless I know exactly what circumstances I am expected to work under, I’m afraid I can’t trust you any more than I could trust your son.” It hurts to criticize Mac like this, but Jack has the feeling that if James finds out that Jack doesn’t see this as some kind of desertion, Mac will be the one who pays the price. 

James sighs, looking suddenly ten years older. “I have been working closely with the British Navy to develop a more accurate cannon. Currently, your ships engage at close range and risk damage to themselves while in battle. With my designs, a warship could fire as soon as an enemy was sighted, and incur very low possibility of damage.”

Jack’s beginning to get the picture. “In the wrong hands, something like that would be devastating.”  _ That’s what Mac was sent to retrieve. The thing he couldn’t talk about.  _

“The plans of our fort’s defenses, and the most recent accounts of our progress, fell into the hands of the French pirate Denis Murdoc.” 

“My mission was to retrieve papers he had stolen. Why not just wait for me to complete it?”

“Those plans are highly sensitive. They were meant only for the eyes of a few men. We could not guarantee that a member of your own crew would not find the possibility of selling them to be too tempting.”

“So you sent your own son to intercept the papers before either the French or my own crew could.” 

“I have the utmost faith in my son’s loyalty.”  _ He shouldn’t in yours. You sent him to what could very likely be his death. _

* * *

Jack absolutely detests having James on his ship. But if he refused, he has no doubt James would insist on having him and his entire crew court martialed, and the  _ Chimera  _ would go after the  _ Acheron. _ So Jack is choosing the lesser of two evils and allowing the man on board. He tries to stay as far away from James as possible. No sense in working himself up to the point that he actually will knock the man over the rail.  _ No one would know… _

It doesn’t help that they still have no idea where to look for the  _ Acheron. _ James is no help in that regard. He only knows that they heard Murdoc was planning to meet with a French ship. He has no idea where. They could be in any port along the South American shore, or they could be at some coordinates in the middle of the ocean. Jack has no way of knowing. 

He continues to sail north, hoping for any word of the ship. When he sees a small, black vessel with red trim limping her way over the horizon with a shattered foremast, Jack recognizes it instantly. The  _ Chrysalis _ is fairly unmistakable. He orders a change of course to intercept her.

Clearly James expects that this is an attempt to capture the notorious crew while the ship is wounded. So when Jack runs up only a parley flag, James explodes. “What are you doing? That is an enemy vessel. Captain Dalton, I will report this…”

Jack has had enough, and he’s fairly certain Thornton will show far less restraint around the man than Jack has.  _ He’ll be sleeping with the fishes if he makes her angry.  _ “Riley, take him below.”

“With pleasure.” Jack can hear James blustering as Riley and Hayes escort him belowdecks, but clearly he has no intention of fighting them. 

Jack watches Patty’s crew lower a longboat, and the woman herself is soon climbing over the rail. Jack extends his hand to her. 

“Patty. Welcome aboard.” 

Thornton looks more tired that he’s ever seen her. There is a sling around her right arm, and he can see bloodied bandages on her shoulder. He’d offer her the services of their surgeon, but he knows her own, Julian Morgan, is quite capable. 

“What’s happened?”

Thornton’s voice is laced with barely controlled anger. “The  _ Acheron  _ engaged us off the Galapagos, three days ago. We set sail and barely escaped with our lives. Murdoc chose not to pursue us, it seems he is waiting for someone there at the islands.” Jack assumes that’s where Patty took a musket ball to the shoulder. 

“Are you certain it was Murdoc?”

“You think I could mistake his ship?” Patty asks. “It was him.”

“I’ve been tasked with capturing him. Where was it that you sighted him exactly?” Jack leads Patty to his cabin and unrolls the map of the area. She points to a small, slightly sheltered harbor in one of the southern islands. 

“Thank you.” Jack’s relief is overwhelming.  _ If he’s waiting for his contact, he should still be there. We’re finally going to catch up to that bastard and get Mac back.  _

“Murdoc attacked my ship, and killed members of my crew. I want him gone. The  _ Chrysalis  _ is no match for the  _ Acheron _ , we are hopelessly outgunned and outclassed. The  _ Phoenix  _ is a far more even match.” Jack can tell Patty’s game. She’s giving him what he wants, so that he will let her crippled ship leave uncontested.  _ She knows she stands no chance of running this time.  _

“You could come with us.”

“I’m a pirate, Jack. Not a hero.” She shrugs. “I didn’t make any promises to die fighting for anyone’s cause.”

“If Murdoc gets away, everyone on the seas could be in danger, very soon.” Jack won’t tell her everything about the new cannon designs. But he also wants all the help he can get.  _ If he gets away, I’m sure we’ll never see Mac again. _

“I’ve never seen you this invested in a hunt, Dalton. What did Murdoc do to you?” Patty is as perceptive as always.  _ She knows this isn’t about duty. This is personal to me, and apparently it’s very obvious. _

“He has one of my men. A civilian who was a passenger.” Jack doesn’t feel like explaining the whole set of insane circumstances, he barely understands them himself. “And I’m going to get him back.”

“You won’t stop until you do.” Her voice is flat. “This is kill or be killed to you now, is it not?” He nods. 

“I understand if you don’t want any part of it. Because it will be a fight I do not intend to lose.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Thornton says. “And if you do, I’ll never forgive myself.” She glances at him. “But after this, you and I are through. I owe you nothing. Never again.”

“I couldn’t ask for fairer terms.” Jack holds out his hand.

“Of course, that will probably be because one or both of us will be dead at the end of all this.” Patty has a wonderful way of crushing the mood. Jack’s always found her pessimistic outlook just a tiny bit amusing. But he knows better than to laugh at her dark humor. 

_ She’s probably right. _ But Jack has a plan that just might mean they survive this thing. “It won’t be a normal battle. We’re going to make him come to us.”

* * *

Jack’s crew works fast, and in the next twenty-four hours the  _ Phoenix _ has been transformed into the  _ Chevalier _ , complete with the flag Jack took down from her mast, and the uniforms from the men who died in the battle.  _ I know, keeping that kind of thing is unorthodox. But I always think of uses like this for something like that. _ He’s extremely grateful for it now.

Patty sailed away hours ago, preparing for her part in the plan. Jack prays for favoring winds, because if she arrives too late, he’s not at all certain of the outcome.  _ The  _ Acheron _ outmatches us by four guns and another mast.  _ The  _ Phoenix _ is a strong, sturdy ship, but the  _ Acheron _ is much newer. Jack’s only hope lies in the fact that Murdoc, a fickle and brutal captain, often struggles to keep a full complement of crew. Unfortunately, that also means his men are devils like himself. The worst scum of the high seas seem to find their way to him, knowing that their violent tendencies will be welcomed.  _ And Mac has had to pretend to fit in with people like that.  _ Jack can’t decide which will be worse to find; a Mac who was unable to keep up the pretense and has suffered for it, or a Mac who has managed to push his humanity far enough down inside to commit unspeakable atrocities to maintain Murdoc’s trust. 

They’re fortunate to have a favoring wind that makes a journey that took Patty three days less than a day and a half. Of course, that’s also because Jack has down every sail he can lower without risking capsizing them. Hern and Thorpe give him concerned looks at his orders, they know this is dangerous. But Hayes is right there beside him bellowing for all the speed they can get.  _ He feels like he owes Mac, after Mac saved his life.  _ Jack’s pretty sure Hayes thinks he was actually brought back from the dead.  _ He might as well have been. _

As they approach the harbor Patty marked on Jack’s map, Jack obsessively checks and rechecks their preparations. He and about half of his men, as many as he had uniforms for, are on deck, keeping up the appearance of a normally functioning ship. But all along the rails, hidden by barrels, coils of rope, and anything else that is large enough, are Riley and the rest of the crew, armed to the teeth and preparing for an assault the second the ships meet. 

He sincerely hopes Patty is holding to her end of the bargain. He’s trusting her, against all logic and James’s advice. James himself is securely stowed in Mac’s old cabin. Jack took care to lock the door behind him. 

When Jack sees the towering black masts of the  _ Acheron, _ he flinches. This is the closest they’ve come to their quarry yet. He can barely believe this is true; what if they round the island only to see a different ship? But then he catches a glimpse of the distinctive third mast. This is the  _ Acheron _ . And she’s unknowingly placed herself in a trap.

Jack hails the  _ Acheron _ in French as soon as he knows his own ship will be visible _. _ When Jack sees the black-coated pirate himself step onto the deck and call out in answer to Jack’s shout, he feels hot anger burn through him. But he forces himself to remain calm. Murdoc is clearly not a fool. He insists that Jack keep his ship where she lies, and that Jack and two of his men only will be allowed to row to Murdoc’s ship, receive the plans, and return to their vessel. Jack can see that the Acheron is poised to deliver a broadside of fire if there is even the slightest indication that something is amiss. 

Now is when the real game begins. In order for his plan to succeed, Jack will need to be able to get the  _ Phoenix _ close enough to pull her in for boarding. At the moment, if he were to fire, he could probably hole her close to the waterline. But dealing that kind of damage risks the ship sinking too soon, and Mac drowning trapped somewhere inside before Jack can find him.  _ All logic says I have the advantage of surprise. That I should fire now.  _ But once again, Jack finds that Mac weighs just as heavily in his calculations as all other factors combined. 

Jack calls back that their boats were lost in a storm off the Cape and that Murdoc will need to send a boat to him. He glances up in the rigging to see that Charlie and the others have been quietly at work. When they stepped the new mast, Charlie took into account some of the sketches and plans Mac had shown him. And now, the sail beams are able to be partially pivoted around the mast, so that the Phoenix can catch the wind at the most optimal angle and still be driven directly forward. 

Murdoc appears to consider the counterdemand’s terms, and Jack knows that it will be now or never. He nods to the men in the rigging, and instantly the sails are furling out, catching a strong wind and throwing the Phoenix forward. Jack watches the white foam rolling out from under her bow. 

Murdoc clearly realizes he’s been had. He orders all cannons to fire, but the Phoenix has already moved out of the line of fire, and the shots drop harmlessly into the ocean. Jack pulls the ship about as tightly as possible, and sails her straight for the Acheron. It almost appears they’re about to collide, but they slip past each other as Riley and the rest of the crew leap to their feet, laying down a raking cover fire on the deck as they throw out the grappling hooks, pulling the ships against each other. 

Jack hears the rattle from below as very gunner simultaneously runs the guns back and jams the water-drenched swab brushes across the gap and into the Acheron’s cannons. The gunners on the Acheron seem genuinely confused, but Jack can tell that Sheng’s plan is working. The wet powder inside will now need to be cleared before the  _ Acheron  _ can fire again. And there is no time for the crew to do it. 

He leaps across onto the  _ Acheron’s  _ deck, where the fighting has already begun in earnest. Murdoc has a larger crew than Jack anticipated, possibly the expectation of a large payment from the French lured more men or kept them in the employ of their devilish captain.

The man himself is visible, out of the way of most of the melee on deck. Jack pushes his way through the fight toward the pirate.  _ That man is mine. _

He’s nearly stopped by another member of the crew, but he easily deflects the man’s sword, pulls his pistol from his belt, and quickly dispatches his enemy before turning to Murdoc, only to realize the pirate has drawn a pistol of his own. 

Murdoc fires, and Jack fully expects to fall. But someone else’s body moves in front of his and he catches sight of rough blond hair as the man who took the shot for him tumbles to the deck.  _ Cage. _ The man is gasping, hands pressed to his stomach, and Jack can see blood running onto the deck. 

He draws his sword and swings, knocking the pistol out of Murdoc’s hand. Murdoc shouts, an inhuman sound of rage, drawing his own blade and dealing a powerful blow. Jack only barely parries it. He forces Murdoc’s blade aside and delivers his own blow, vicious but controlled enough that when it is blocked, he isn’t unable to compensate. 

Jack has heard that Murdoc is a stellar swordsman, and now he can clearly see why. The man’s style is a combination of fluid grace and a murderous, insane rage. He strikes brutally, blows that should leave him off balance and vulnerable, but somehow he still manages to guard against each of Jack’s blows. He’s pressing Jack backward, toward the mast. 

Jack is willing to believe he may be outmatched in swordplay. But they haven’t given him the name “Lucky Jack” for no reason. What he sometimes lacks in skill, he makes up for in sheer bravado. So he takes a few more calculated steps back, then makes a clearly poor swing at Murdoc, one that leaves his head and neck fully unguarded.

Murdoc swings a terrific blow, one that would definitely separate his head from his neck...if Jack was still standing there. He’s allowed the momentum of his intentionally poor attack to pull him downward and to the side, and Murdoc’s sword slices brutally into the side of the mast,  and sticks there. Jack rolls to his feet, leaping between Murdoc and the sword and leveling his own at the pirate captain’s throat.

Murdoc leaps backward, turning to run. He must be able to see the murderous intent in Jack’s eyes. Jack attempts to pursue him, but several other members of his crew step in between, and Jack is forced to deal with them first, blocking deadly strikes and dealing back his own in return. 

Jack looks around him. Their first advantage of surprise is wearing thin. He can see his own men forced to fall back, outmatched by the weapons and ferocity of Murdoc’s crew. Hayes has forced in further than most and is completely surrounded, fighting like a madman. He has no idea where Riley is.  _ We’re losing this fight. _

And then he looks up long enough to see familiar colors on the horizon. The  _ Chrysalis  _ sweeps out from under the lee of the island, swinging wide and firing a raking broadside over the Acheron’s side. Hemmed in on both port and starboard now, the ship stands little chance. But Murdoc’s men are devils. They refuse to stop fighting. 

There are frightening yells as Patty’s crew descend on the  _ Acheron. _ Jack can see Patty herself leading the boarding party, her sling gone, a pistol in each hand and a sword in her belt. He fights his way through the confusion to her, he needs her to coordinate the assault while he goes below. He can see Riley on the far side rallying his own men. She catches sight of him and Patty and raises her own sword.  

Patty nods to him. “Go find your man. We’ll handle them.” She and Hayes are fighting back to back, and Jack knows they’ll stop anyone else from coming after him. All he has to do is get to Mac. 

Jack fights his way down the steps, heading for the depths of the hold. He’s certain that’s where Murdoc would choose to keep his prisoners. Jack barely notices when a shot tears through his sleeve, or a lucky slash of a sword wounds his thigh. 

He finds the hold, and a ring of keys hanging outside a door reinforced with strips of iron. He searches for the key that unlocks it, and then stumbles inside, blinking in the darkness. His foot slips on something slimy, and he barely avoids tumbling down a set of slick stairs into the water he can hear sloshing below him. He carefully picks his way down into it, cringing at the smell. He hears rats squealing, but he has no idea where they are. 

He walks carefully forward through the water, trying to allow his eyes to adjust to the dank gloom. He blinks again, and catches a glimpse of something pale ahead of him in the room. He almost slams into the barred barrier between him and the shape, which his clearing eyes are finally able to determine is, in fact, Mac.

He feels for the door of the barred, cagelike room, and for the key that unlocks it. The yelling from above is faint, he has no idea how the fight is going. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the tortured boy in front of him. 

Jack’s seen plenty of naval punishments. He’s seen his share of floggings, even brutal ones. He made up his mind a long time ago that he was never going to stand for the level of brutality he’d seen sailing under other captains. It isn’t that he’s never had to punish a member of his crew, but he’ll never resort to wanton cruelty.

Murdoc has no such scruples, and Jack knows it. But he still wasn’t prepared for the condition Mac is in. He’s fairly certain there’s been more than one lashing, since the raw, bleeding cuts cross over the older, scabbed ones.  _ Murdoc’s had him on his ship for nearly a month. How long ago did he realize the truth? _

He can’t be sure Mac is even still alive. He’s slumped over in the chains, in a position that would be incredibly painful for his raw, flayed back. Either he’s too exhausted to sit up, or...Jack refuses to think that they’re too late.  _ If we are I’m going to keelhaul James. _ It’s that man’s fault his son is sitting here beaten and broken in the hold of a pirate’s ship. 

He kneels down in the cold, filthy water and presses a hand to Mac’s throat, feeling for a heartbeat the way he’s seen Lanier do to men when he has no idea whether they’re alive or dead. Mac’s skin is icy cold, but Jack can feel a faint flutter beneath his fingers. And then Mac shudders, pulling away from his hand and mumbling something. 

Jack leans down to catch the words, they’re barely more than a whisper. “Please, dinnae touch me.” Mac’s hands come up weakly to try and push Jack’s away, and Jack cringes when he sees the manacles around them and the chafed sores they’ve left on his arms.  _ He wasn’t going to go anywhere, not in this cage. That sadistic bastard… _

“Mac, It’s me. It’s only Jack. I’m going to get you out of here.” He twists his fingers into Mac’s, holding on tightly. 

“J-jack?” Mac whispers. “What are you doing here?”

“Got your letter.” Jack says, and starts fumbling with the keys, searching for the right ones to unlock the manacles around Mac’s wrists and ankles. 

When he finally frees the last of them, Mac starts scrambling, trying to stumble to his feet. Jack catches him before he falls. “Gently now. Let me carry you.”

Mac shakes his head, stubbornly attempting to get his feet underneath him. Jack sighs, but puts one of Mac’s arms around his shoulders. “Fine. If you want to walk, I’m going to help you.” He leads them both out of the stinking hold and onto the deck. 

Mac blinks and shudders at the blinding brightness. Jack wonders how long he’s been left in that cold, dark cage.  _ Did Murdoc bring him on deck each time he flogged him, or did he simply do it there, with Mac chained up? _ Now, in the light, Jack can see that the damage is sickeningly even worse than he had been able to notice in the hold. Mac’s back is nothing but raw open wounds and ugly scabbing; there is no untouched skin. Jack can distinctly see, on his sides, four different levels of scarring.  _ How is he even still alive? _

His crew is clearly as horrified as he feels. He can hear Riley gasping and choking. He also dimly realizes that the shouting and clashing steel is over. He looks up at the crews gathered on the bloodstained deck. 

Thornton is panting, fresh blood smearing her face and clothes, Riley is gripping a gash on her shoulder, and several of the others are limping or leaning exhausted on the rail. 

A man Jack saw in Murdoc’s crew, possibly the closest to a first mate the pirate had, holds out the sword he must have wrested from the mast. Murdoc’s blade is unmistakable. Jack accepts the token of surrender.

“Murdoc’s escaped,” Riley says. 

Jack feels like screaming or crying. That monster still has managed to evade a just punishment for his crimes. “How?”

“It seems in the confusion he cut loose one of the longboats and slipped away to the islands.” Patty looks deeply remorseful. “None of us noticed until we were clearing away the dead and didn’t find him there or with the prisoners.” 

Jack nods. He can’t blame anyone for this, the battle was chaotic and they were all fortunate that it was a victory, this time. He glances at the sword and then hands it to Riley and moves toward the  _ Phoenix  _ with Mac’s arm slung across his shoulder.  _ It’s over. _ For now, at least, they’ve won. And Jack has no desire to do anything now but work toward healing. 

* * *

Jack nearly literally runs into Bozer on his way to Mac’s cabin. He thinks it will be best to work there, to give Mac a bit of privacy. Some of the slashes from the whip cut quite low, and Jack is sure Mac would rather not be stripped to clean them in front of the half of the crew that is already being treated for their injuries from the battle.

Jack gives Bozer a moment to collect himself and cringes at the horror on the young cook’s face when he sees Mac. “I need warm water. As much of it as you can get me.” Bozer only nods and hurries away. 

Jack deeply regrets leaving James in that cabin, because the second he opens the door, the man is plying him with questions. He doesn’t even spare a moment for the shock everyone else has shown upon seeing how cruelly Mac was tortured. Jack thought even Hayes looked close to tears, and Patty was biting her lip. 

Jack doesn’t have time for all this. He ignores James as he lays Mac out on his bunk. But clearly James doesn’t get the message that they need to be left in peace. He continues his barrage of questions as Bozer and Riley appear with basins of water and clean cloths. 

“I need to know what you learned about his information. Does he or does he not still have the documents from Fort Cameron?” James asks, as if he’s talking to a criminal in the brig, not a wounded boy in the doctor’s quarters.

“I dinnae ken.” Mac’s soft accent is so much stronger when his entire focus is on controlling the cries of pain as Jack and Riley begin to clean his back. 

“That is not the answer I need to take back to the fort. If that man handed over the papers, it puts the entire British fleet at risk.”

Mac starts to answer, but Riley’s hands brush against a horribly mangled patch of his back and he gasps, biting his lip and forcing a scream of pain into a whimpered groan. 

James leans forward, and Jack sees his hand going to one of Mac’s torn shoulders.  _ Don’t you dare touch him! _ It’s an almost instinctive reaction. Jack moves so quickly even he is barely aware of what he’s doing until James is sprawled on the cabin floor. 

Jack shakes out his hand. “Leave him alone.”

“I could have you court-martialed! You’ll be hanged for this, Dalton!” James snaps, gripping his jaw. 

“For the ship being caught by a wave? You fell into me. I stopped you from ramming right into the bulkhead,” Jack mutters, turning back to the boy laid out on the cot in front of him. “Now I’ll thank you to leave, I have an injured crew member to attend to.” James begins to splutter a protest, but Jack firmly pushes him to the door and slams it in his face. 

He and Riley clean and treat the worst of the wounds, trying to ignore the soft, muffled cries of pain that eventually cease altogether. Jack sends Riley out before he strips Mac out of his ragged, filthy trousers to clean the last of the welts. He has no idea what Murdoc or any of his crew might have done to Mac, and judging by how violently Mac reacted to being touched, it could have been something truly unthinkable. He wants to spare Mac any more humiliation than is strictly necessary. 

When he’s finished, Jack can’t bear to leave. Mac is crying in his sleep, probably a combination of the pain from cleaning his wounds and of nightmares from his captivity. Jack takes the chair from his writing desk and sits down beside the bunk, working his fingers through Mac’s dirty hair. The action seems to soothe him, at least a little, and Jack fetches some of the last of the clean water and begins to wash away the dirt and blood. 

Mac looks so small and fragile, lying there bloodied and broken. Jack can see his bones clearly; not that the boy was ever a sturdy weight, but now he seems brittle, like his arms might snap if Jack grips them too tightly. He’s so terribly pale, and his skin is marked with wounds and scars and sores. 

“I’m so sorry, Mac,” he whispers, twisting his fingers gently into Mac’s limp, calloused ones.  _ I don’t even know what I’m sorry for. I suppose I’m sorry that you had to do all this alone, that your terrible excuse for a father made you believe no one in this world can be trusted. That I didn’t prove to you sooner that I was worth your trust, that I would have helped you. _

Mac’s fingers twitch slightly, then close firmly around Jack’s hand, and he sits there quietly, running his fingers through Mac’s hair until his sleep is finally calm. 


	7. Chapter 7

“You shouldn’t be on your feet yet. Get back in that bed before I make you.” Jack puts a hand gently but firmly on Mac’s shoulder. “Your back looks worse than the chickens Bozer tried to carve during a typhoon.” That earns him a weak chuckle. 

It’s been two weeks since they pulled Mac out of the  _ Acheron _ ’s hold. Jack set sail for the nearest port, with the  _ Acheron _ following, Riley in command. Both ships had barely enough crew for them, but they met up with a British warship two days out, and Jack took the opportunity to transfer both James and responsibility for the  _ Acheron _ , as well as the stolen papers that Jack did find inside the locked Chinese cabinet Mac had said they might be in _. _ The ship is quite the prize, but if Jack ever sees her again it will be too soon. Every time he looked back on the horizon and saw her there, all he could think about was Mac left to rot in that awful hold. 

He’d wanted to insist on continuing into port, where Mac could heal on dry ground, but Mac had refused. He’s desperate to stay on the  _ Phoenix _ ; and he’s calmest when Jack is close by. Jack’s taken to spending his nights in the hard chair beside Mac’s bed. It leaves his bones aching in the morning, but Mac is less restless in his sleep, and Jack would bear anything to help soothe at least a little of the boy’s pain. 

Jack’s charted a course for Australia, he has good reason to. Cage’s heroic effort nearly cost him his life. He’s fortunate that the shot entered his side, not his stomach, and that Lanier was able to remove it as well as the cloth the ball dragged in with it. They’re uncertain how well the wound will heal, and Jack plans for them to take the man back to his home country before they return to England.  _ He saved my life.  _ Jack owes the man a deep debt, and this may be the only way to repay it. 

Jack had offered to take the man elsewhere, but he’d insisted on returning to Australia. It seems he has a sweetheart waiting for him there. Jack would be surprised that he’s heard nothing of it before if he wasn’t so familiar with Cage’s unwillingness to discuss anything about himself or his personal life. The man is one large barrel of secrets, but it doesn’t bother Jack in the slightest.  _ We all are, in our own way. _ It’s Mac’s secrets that have him far more concerned.

He doesn’t want to press for any information about what happened to Mac while he was in Murdoc’s hands. Partly because he doesn’t want to force him to remember any more pain, and also because he’s not sure he can bear to hear anything more than what he already knows. 

Mac has been ill with a fever almost the entire fortnight since the rescue. His whispers and cries as he shivered and sweated on his bunk shattered Jack’s heart. He has no idea what is Mac’s mind tangled by the fever, and what might be actual memory of his time on the  _ Acheron. _

“I need to get up,” Mac says, still trying to force himself upright. “I feel better, I need to walk.” 

“You need to rest.”

“Which of us is the scientist who studied medicine?” Mac insists, grimacing as he moves.

“Which of us has more experience with the way a flogging heals?” Jack jabs back. He’s learned that the only way to handle Mac is to match his verbal sparring. 

Mac sighs, clearly about to give in. 

“Trust me, you’ll be grateful.” Jack leans down to tuck the blankets more securely around Mac’s legs; he’s still unwilling to put anything over his back.  _ At least the weather has been passably warm.  _

The second Jack’s hand touches his leg, Mac flinches wildly, pulling away and gasping when the movement pulls at his flayed back. Jack swallows painfully. Mac has been like this since they rescued him, and Jack fears the absolute worst. 

“I’m sorry,” Mac whispers, tears glittering in his eyes. “I didnae mean to panic like that.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Did I hurt you?” Jack already knows the answer to that will be no, but he has no intention of letting Mac know what he suspects.  _ Mac is so cautious about revealing anything painful to anyone. He tries to deal with his problems alone, and I want that to change, but I can’t force him to start doing that. I might only push him farther away. _

“Nae.” It seems like once again, that’s all Mac will say. But then he shakes his head and whispers. “I have such terrible dreams.” Jack feels tears pricking his eyes, but he blinks them away. “Murdoc...He threatened…” Mac swallows. “He was planning to sell me when we made port.” 

Jack shudders.  _ Good God.  _

“He said he would reconsider if I...If I…” He shakes his head. 

“What has he done to you?” Jack feels cold and numb.  _ I’ll never stop hunting that monster. _

“I know what you think. But he never did anything like that to me.” Mac whispers. “I know he wanted to. But for some twisted reason, he wanted me to give in. He wanted me to choose it rather than whatever other torture he could plan.” Jack’s seen the wounds. In addition to the floggings, it’s clear that Mac was cut with some sort of serrated blade, there are a few vicious stab wounds, and plenty of bruises. And Jack would guess, from Mac’s aversion to anyone else trying to help him drink, that Murdoc forcibly drowned him, probably more than once. 

“I’m so sorry, Mac.” Jack puts an arm gently around Mac’s shoulders, and when he doesn’t resist, pulls him in close and lets him lean against his chest. “No one is ever going to do that to you again, as long as I’m alive to stand between you and them.” He says nothing when he feels Mac start to cry. 

* * *

Jack watches the coast of Australia fade into the horizon behind them. He’s left Sam Cage in the hands of his more than capable nurse, and also taken on a new crew member, a young woman from somewhere in southern Asia who was thrown off her previous ship when it was discovered she was not the man she had pretended to be. She’d been waiting in the port for a new berth, and apparently Riley had met her and struck up an instant connection and friendship. Jack knows little about her aside from the fact that she has a truly unpronounceable name and the most tattoos he’s seen on any sailor. And that she’s almost inhumanly fast when climbing the ratlines and moving through the rigging. He thinks she’ll do well.

Mac steps up from below deck. He’s been there most of the day, despite the fact that he’s now healthy enough to wander around the ship again. His back is horribly scarred, and Jack can tell that the deeper wounds have slightly affected his posture, raising one shoulder a bit higher than the other and giving him a slight limp when he walks. But on the whole Mac has recovered well from the ordeal. He still cries and screams sometimes in his sleep, but not it happens far less often.

Jack wonders if he was simply resting; it’s possible he wore himself out the day before. He’d left the ship for a few hours and returned looking like someone had taken a weight off him, despite the clear exhaustion in his face. 

Mac leans on the rail beside Jack, looking out across the water. “How soon are we going back?”

“Well, technically I’ve fulfilled my orders and I should have sailed home as soon as we had the Acheron, but…” Jack reaches into his pocket. “Admiral Raines’s wife handed me this envelope to be opened only after the mission with the  _ Acheron  _ was over.” He pulls out the papers to show Mac. “It’s orders for me to conduct a two year scientific survey, at your request of location.” He leaves off the part where Matty stipulated that this was if Mac survived his own mission.  _ She knew all along. And she made sure that my ship got the orders and that Mac was on it. She knew I would do the best I could to protect him. _ Matty is as bound by regulations as anyone else, but in her own way, she does what she can to protect the people she cares about.

“I guess it’s a good think I didn’t run away then.” Mac says it so casually that for a moment Jack doesn’t register what he said.

“Wait, what?”

“I…” Mac trails off. “I didnae want to go back and face my father again.” Mac shakes his head, fingers picking aimlessly at a splinter in the rail. “So I wrote him a letter saying I wouldnae be coming home, and I was going to walk away, right there. Find another ship and another and just stay away from Britain forever.” Jack can tell he’s thought about this a while.  _ Oh Mac, you should have told me you didn’t want to go back. _

“What made you change your mind?”

Mac sighs. “I can still feel all the scars. It still hurts. And I was walking away, and I kept thinkin’ that I endured all of that but I cannae find the courage to tell my father to his face that I want nothin’ to do with him.” He shakes his head. “I thought it was possible we’d return before he got my letter. But I’m glad I didnae take it back. Because I’m not going home, at least not yet.”

“Not ever, if you don’t want to.” Jack puts his arm gently around Mac’s shoulders. “The people you’re related to can be harder to deal with than a whole crew of Barbary pirates. If you don’t want to see James again for a while, you shouldn’t need to. You have nothing to prove. Not to him, not to me, and unless it’s important to you, not to yourself either.” 

Mac nods. “Two years. I think I can be ready to talk to him after that.” He smiles. “Who knows what I’ll discover by then? I could walk into the Royal Society’s meetings and show them something they’ve never believed was possible. I’d like to see the look on James’s face then.” He blinks and bites his lip, probably at the unfamiliarity of calling his father by his first name.

“Now that you’re free of him, where to?” Jack asks. Mac shrugs. 

“I dinnae ken, really. It’s odd to think about makin’ that choice myself.” Mac’s leaning on the ship’s railing, staring out to sea and looking as lost as a sailor with a broken compass. “All my life he’s been steering me, whether I knew it or not. I’m nae certain I even know where to begin. Or who I am.”

“Well, you’re one of the best men I know. And also one of the most inquisitive scientists.” Jack smiles when Mac looks at him with a confused frown. “It’s not as if I haven’t cracked the spine of a few books myself, you know.”

“I think I really would like to see the Galapagos for myself.” Mac glances out at the sunset, the sea breeze pulling his hair free of its tie once again. “It’s rumored that creatures that shouldn’t exist do. Flightless birds, giant lizards.”

“Now this I need to see for myself.” Jack smiles. He gazes out at the seemingly endless open horizon.  _ We have the whole world in front of us.  _


End file.
